


An Ocean of Stars

by EtherealGlade



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 1-2 parts before s4, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Love, My First AO3 Post, Reader-Insert, Smut, jean has a crush on you kinda??//, medic reader, please leave constructive criticism im bad, sexy time though lol, theres probably gonna be multiple parts to this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28912257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtherealGlade/pseuds/EtherealGlade
Summary: After the cataclysmic events during the Battle of Trost, you join the scouts, eager to actively protect the lives of those residing in the walls.Surrounded by danger and faces you don't recognise, a particular blonde man catches your attention--Reiner Braun. He's a threat to the vows you made to yourself and your comrades.How much will you risk for him? How much will your entanglement cost your lives?[SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1-3]
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Reiner Braun & Reader, Reiner Braun/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I used a placeholder first name (Elle) as I don’t like Y/N or any equivalents. The last name is Reader, but I try and avoid mentioning names where possible.
> 
> Also, there’s slight canon divergence. Though the events follow the same chronological order from season one-two, the gaps between each major event are lengthened/adjusted so there can be more time for interaction. Thanks!)

Until today, you wanted to long remain as a garrison medic. You expected little combat, given that your position chained you to regional and military hospitals; tending and caring for the wounded and ill, far from the fighting lines. Yet, you had the unfortunate privilege of bearing witness to all the gruesome, consequential horrors. 

You’d seen bodies ripped apart and sewn together again; you’d seen the limbs blackened like charcoal, watched the gleaming eyes of the patient writhe in incurable pain as their body fought their own limbs. You observed as blue vialed serums dispensed into rigid spines to ease their suffering, only for the patients to wake up the next day stumbling and dead from beneath the hip. You’d seen bodies chewed and tattered, imprints of titan teeth carved into the flesh of soldiers and civilians alike.

The Battle of Trost brought the conflict far closer to you than anticipated; the roars of titans and the thundering of their gargantuan feet swarming your senses, the thick, pooling blood leaking from the still intact half of your comrade’s head staining your uniform, and the overwhelming helplessness you felt as you remained behind, consoling your fellow soldier as he died a long, painful death; wailing for his mother while you could do naught but comfort until his eyes glazed over.

After the battle had subsided, your work continued. Picking at the scattered and torn uniformed bodies, hoping for a survivor, a name--any sign to revoke the thickening sense of anger pooling within the pits of your stomach. The hours wore on, the bodies piling with a steadily decreasing chance of finding survivors.

You couldn’t keep doing this.

Patching up the damage, not knowing if one more soldier could have helped prevent more deaths. Not knowing if you could’ve saved the little girl you saw lying dead in the street. Not knowing if you had wasted all those years of gruelling training and study, only to be stuck inside the confines of the hospital walls, not knowing if your talents were better suited elsewhere.

Your heart tugged you towards the blue and white wings. The Wings of Freedom. 

You wouldn’t feel helpless there. You’d be a fighter, an explorer. A true asset to humanity. You could mend wounded soldiers in the thick of the fight; rather than desperately attempt to fix their shattered bodies strewn through the streets hours after the fighting had subsided with little success.

The streets were clearing now. At least, from the bodies. The stench still remained, and many streets remained coated in layers of blood.

You stride down a narrow stone pathway, eyes scanning the length of either side of the street.

Empty. Clean. 

Heart aching with a small beat of joy, you continue venturing down the strip, rearing around the corner to enter the next line of terracotta shingled homes, identical to the last and not too dissimilar from your own home street. 

A pang of sadness strikes you, but it subsides quickly. Home sickness did not fare well against the sharp sting of adrenaline. And you knew better than to be tempted by the comforts of civilian life. Regardless, you’re sure your home is little more than rubble now. 

Meeting you in the centre of the street is a red, crystallised ball. Eyebrows involuntarily raising, you stride closer to the spherical structure and dare to see what lays inside its glistening shell. 

Staring down at the crystal, you now note why it is red. The stark crimson hue, from the blood and bodies pooled inside, jarringly clashes with the sparkling outer surface. Faces, frozen in terror, stare at you from inside the crystalline cage in silent pleas. 

You don’t know what to do. Like the bodies inside the sphere, you became static, ensnared; your mind filling with a painful, droning buzz. Your hands sweat and your stomach churns painfully as your body remains frozen in place. The only thing that reels you back into your senses is the dread of bile rising through your throat. 

Running to the edge of the road, you hold in the vomit. Standing on the edge, you clutch your knees and release, throat tingling and burning as you heave up the little amount of food in your system. You stand still for a moment, inhaling and exhaling slowly through your mouth, wincing at the tang of bile on your tongue. When you release your hands, they’re stained red from your blood-drenched uniform, and trembling profusely. 

“Hey,” a gruff voice shouts from behind.

You wipe your mouth on the clean portion of your sleeve and turn around. Your gaze travels upwards, landing upon an intimidatingly tall and broad blonde man. 

“The hospital’s a few blocks over to the right,” you say quickly, cheeks flaring. “Are you injured?”

“No,” he says. 

Taking a step closer, he asks, “Are you all right?” 

You nod reluctantly. Eyes casting to the crystalline ball, his gaze follows. His mouth falls agape, though he has the resolve to cast his eyes away quickly and purse his lips together.

“What is that?” a female voice stammers from above, prodding at it with her blade as she dangles, grappled from a rooftop.

“Titan vomit,” you breathe. “I-I read about it. Since they don’t have proper digestive systems, once they’re full, they vomit the bodies back up.” 

The blonde man turns his back from the ball, and the brunette scales back up onto the roof. He’s wincing slightly, but you take it this is the kind of man that does everything to maintain a tough facade. As soon as his eyes meet yours, the wince is gone and he forces a taut smile, more for you than for him.

“We should tell the engineers. They’ll work out a way to remove it.”

You nod gently, still shaken and frazzled from the sight. You follow the man, wondering just what atrocities he has witnessed in this hellish boulevard of broken bodies.

His cadet uniform makes you frown a little. To be freshly graduated, eager to venture into your chosen regiment--only for this tragedy to spurn. . .you couldn’t begin to imagine how devastated their class would be. 

You feel a pang of sympathy.

“Medical division,” he notes from your attire. “What’s your name?”

His voice is deep and confident, with a comforting edge of softness that contrasts his intimidatingly large physique. 

“Elle Reader,” you hum. “And yours?”

“Reiner Braun,” he says gruffly, slowing his pace to fall in line with yours. 

“Nice to meet you,” you say. Trying to steer the conversation away from the battle and the bitter aftermath, you ask, “what regiment are you entering?”

“Scouting Legion.”

“I hope to see you then.”

Reiner raises an eyebrow, perplexed by your statement. You certainly weren’t in his graduate class, and regardless, you were currently in the medical division of the Garrison, and the Scouts were away and certainly not working with the Garrison.

“Transfer,” you answer before he asks. 

Reiner nods in calm acknowledgement. “It’ll be beneficial to have a soldier with medical experience.” 

You nod, though you worry inside that you may become a burden given your inexperience. Though you had undergone the same training, not using those skills for nearly a year certainly inhibited any chance of improvement or retention of your skills. Though you graduated in the top ten of your class, you doubt you would even be in the bottom quarter of the recruits skill-wise now. The sooner you were back on the training field, the better. 

You part ways at the hospital, though not before he gives you a once-over and a determined nod as farewell.   
\---  
Three Days Later

You’re sitting across from Erwin Smith; tall, blonde, and face drawn into a tight, vacant slate. Standing against the left office wall is Captain Levi, thin eyebrows furrowed down toward his eyes. You feel his silvery glare singing into your skin, though you swallow your fear and force your spine straight. It’s an intimidation tactic, you recognise.

“You’ve applied for a transfer,” he says, scrutative. “The Garrison is far safer than the Scouting Legion. Your casualties are far lower. And as a medic, you have thus far not been involved in any conflict. Correct?”

You nod.

“That would mean you have not used the ODM gear nor your blades for some time, I can assume.”

You nod slowly, “I practice whenever I can. And I’m willing to retrain if necessary.”

“Tch. You’ll need more than a few weeks of training to be good enough for the Scouts,” Levi grumbles.

Ignoring both comments, Erwin continues, “In the last four years, ninety-percent of the Scouting Legion members have died. More than double of that will die in the following years; and even then, it’s a strikingly optimistic figure. If you join, you will likely die too. Given your inexperience, the chance is far greater. I want you to listen to your heart and mind very closely before we consider accepting your transfer.” 

He lets your thoughts simmer for a moment.

The thought of dying isn’t a pleasant one. The thought of being torn and broken apart like all those poor soldiers . . .it terrified you. But, the thought of innocent civilians being torn apart was worse. The thought of continuing your meagre life from the sidelines as you stitch your classmates back together, wondering if they could have been saved if you were instead fighting by their side, was far worse. 

Now, you can help all of humanity. And finally, see who or what lay outside the confines of the walls.

He leans forward on his elbows, contemplative gaze scanning your face. “Are you willing to die if ordered?”

“Yes,” you say, steeling the determination within your eyes.

Levi snorts.

Erwin nods, withdrawing his arms. An uncomfortable moment of silence falls between you as his eyes remain fixed on yours. You dare not look away.

“Welcome to the Scouting Legion.”

You can't help the dorky grin spreading across your lips, “Thank you, Commander.”

You both stand. Your fists raise, collide with your chest, and in unison, you shout, “Devote your heart!”

Another scout member soon knocks on the office door, papers in hand. Erwin nods for your dismissal, and you promptly leave the office, joy bouncing in each step you take. The early morning haze of the sun beams down on you as you enter the courtyard, filtering through the strands of hair that fall over your cheeks. 

You’re in. 

You’re finally in. 

Collecting your bag, you move to the supply storage to collect your gear. You vow to practice once you’re settled in—including after you’ve familiarized yourself with other soldiers. Your mind flickers to the broad blonde you met back in Trost, and a small part of your heart hopes you’ll see him again.

\---

You make your way to your new dorm. It’s small and basic, and the bedsheets are thin and worn. A tall cupboard fits your small collection of your utilitarian belongings, and the bedside table nicely accommodates a framed picture of your parents. Your heart aches. Only a month ago, they were both alive. Only a month ago, they were both working at their small medical practice, caring for sick and injured travellers and townspeople. And only a week ago, you found the centre crushed beneath a layer of rubble. 

You knew there was no way they could have survived. When your hand begins to tremble, you quickly settle the photo down on the table and turn your back from it.

Making your way outside of the barracks, you enter the courtyard. Excited throngs of soldiers move around you, entering the dining hall for their breakfast to prepare for their day. 

You ate before you came, so the idea of breakfast is not an enticing one. Instead, your eyes travel to the left quadrant of the yard--the dirt patch training field, aligned oppositional to the stables. It’s quieter than the dining hall, and perhaps that’s what persuades you to enter it. A pair of black-haired trainees playfully spar by the fence. In the centre, you spot two tall figures readying their fighting stances. One, a tall and lanky brunette, the other, slightly shorter, muscular blonde.

You pace your way closer. The brunette man lunges, and his fist connects with the other man’s forearm. The blonde man dives lower, grapples the man’s sides and throws him to the ground with speed impressive for a man of such size.

As you inch closer, you realise it’s Reiner. 

“I’m done, Reiner,” the taller man gently laughs, rubbing his neck. 

“Come on, Bertholdt. We sparred twice. Wishing I was Annie instead?” He grins, punching his side gently.

The brunette’s face burns bright pink. “N-no. I’m going to go get breakfast.”

Reiner turns with him, and both boy’s eyes meet yours.

Reiner waves, “Hey. Glad to see you made it here.”

The brunette pauses, confusion written all over his face as Reiner strides closer toward you.

You wave back.

“Mhm. Erwin accepted my transfer request earlier today.” 

Bert leaves, and you note the slight raise in his eyebrows as he scans the two of you.

“But, I need to train myself back up before I can go on any missions,” you begin, rubbing your arm, “could you teach me how to fight like that?”

Reiner nods. “Of course. I’ll be careful not to squash you.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” you retort, though your bravado is entirely crafted.

You raise your fists to your chin, widening your stance. 

Reiner begins to circle you, your own feet following the rhythm of his. You think he’s going to strike first, but he doesn’t. His fists stay close to his jaw, and you realise he’s not going to lunge at you. He’s going easy on you.

Frustrated, you arc your right arm forwards, though he easily blocks it. You jump back, anticipating a reactionary strike--but he remains still.

You lunge forward again, faking a left handed strike, but soon lower your hands to his waist and attempt to topple him, just as you saw him to do the brunette. He dodges it, as if predicting your move from five moves ahead. Yet, he again refuses to strike you, merely offering a smirk like a cat toying with its prey.

You strike again, with your leg this time, and he doesn’t move to dodge it; though you’re perfectly aware he could have.

“Reiner,” you groan, “I won’t learn if you go easy on me.”

“I’m not,” he huffed, “you’re very quick.”

“Please? I won’t learn otherwise.”

He purses his lips, staring at your far smaller frame. He’s hesitant; he doesn’t want to injure you. Reluctantly, he nods. 

“All right.”

You fake a strike, only to attempt toppling him again with your leg.

Half a heartbeat later, you feel his hands on your sides and before you can react, you’re lying on your back in the dirt. You wince a little, though you know he softened your fall. 

He extends a hand down toward you, offering to help lift you up from your pitiful defeat. You smile up at him and grasp his hand, and before he can lift you upwards, you yank him towards the ground with a forceful tug.

He topples, not expecting your sudden lunge, nearly falling straight atop of you. You’re quick enough to roll upward and upend yourself over him, digging your knees into his sides as your hands race to pin his arms down. 

“You’re not still going easy on me, are you?” you hum teasingly.

Your words strike something within him. He wraps his thighs around your narrow frame, lifts his arms with little effort, and rolls you over beneath him. He pins your wrists against the ground and digs his thighs tight against your hips, a smirk spreading across his lips. 

Your gaze meets his as he hovers above you, noses inches from brushing. 

“What was that, Princess?”

Princess? You feel heat rise to your cheeks. You know it’s not from the sparring, either. You’ve barely exerted yourself. 

You wince from his weight, and he quickly lifts himself. “Sorry. You alright?” he asks quickly.

“Mhm,” you respond, rising to your feet. Sure, it hurt. He was far from light. But you wouldn’t let him see that.

He scratches the back of his neck, a little red-faced as he stands across from you. “I’m gonna get breakfast,” he says dismissively. 

Trying to shake off the jittery feeling within your insides, you nod and watch him leave for the dining hall. You take the opportunity to use the 3DMG before your instructor meets with you at lunchtime, trying to shake away thoughts of him.   
\---  
Five days later

You’ve been training everyday with Reiner since. No matter how many times you’re thrown, tackled and hit, you get right back up and continue. No matter how hesitant he is to continue, you persist. You even sparred with Connie, Sasha, and one time with Bertholdt. Jean mainly pulled faces and cackled at Connie from the sidelines, leading the pair to get into many playful fights that Sasha excitedly intervened. 

You haven’t grown to know anyone really well, yet. Sure, you’ve found yourself a group to sit and joke with. . .but you know little about any of them. Most people already have tight friend circles. It’s understandable; they trained for three years together, shed blood together--meanwhile, they’re only just familiarizing themselves with your face.

Bertholdt is timid, but kind. He likes to watch you and Reiner spar, and gives you gentle words of encouragement each time you’re knocked flat on your ass. Reiner is gentle and caring, ensuring he never really hurts you, but he pushes you each time you reprimand or tease him. For a man so intimidating and gruff, he’s surprisingly rather amicable. You now understand why his comrades trust him so much. But, you can’t help but feel there’s more beneath his walled exterior. 

“You’re smaller, so you can use that to your advantage,” Reiner advises as he begins to circle you, “You can dodge my strikes easier, and eventually tire me out.”

You nod. Recognising your acknowledgement, he takes a step forward and lunges his fist towards you. You dodge, ducking under his arm and jumping backwards as his leg follows through. You nearly stumble and slip as his leg collides with your side, but you quickly regain your balance and readjust your stance. 

“Surprise your opponent to catch them off guard,” Reiner adds. “When they’re lunging wildly at you,” he begins, following through with his fist that you narrowly dodge, “assert control through a drastic change.”

You churn his words through your head, trying to remember any moves from your past training. Nothing springs to mind. However, as his leg hurtles towards you, colliding against your forearm, an idea springs to your head. You’re unsure if it’s even possible, given how he towers well above you.

You duck and roll behind him, watching as he freezes in confusion. You spring upwards, using your hands against his shoulders to pull yourself up higher as you swing your thighs around his neck from behind. You hear a muffled grunt of surprise before you squeeze and lean backwards. 

Losing his balance, Reiner falls on his backside with you still attached. You both yelp in pain, but you keep your thighs locked around him, determined to win as you exert pressure against his windpipe. He taps your leg, signalling for his release, and sits upright, gasping for air. You remain on your back, beaming.

“I did it!” you gasp.

Reiner chuckles gently, rubbing at his neck. He can’t help but stare at you as you giddily relish in your victory. Your eyes meet, and a beat of silence falls between you, save for the puffs of air you both desperately draw in. He’s quick to look away, brushing the dirt from his pants. 

“You’ve improved quickly, Princess. Think you might need to realign my spine though. That hurt like shit,” he adds jokingly. 

You both stand, Bertholdt watching you with a gentle smile from the sidelines. Jean, meanwhile, swings an arm around you with a cackle. “Who knew you were such a sneaky little thing, Reader? And here I thought Reiner was going easy on-” 

His words are cut off abruptly as Reiner comes behind and between you two, swinging an arm around both of your shoulders, separating Jean from your side.

“No, she handled herself well,” Reiner chimes.

“I’d be happy to indulge you, horse-face,” you hum.

Jean readies himself for the challenge, though not before you all notice Captain Levi’s scrutinizing gaze from across the field. 

“Oi! Stable duty for a week for the lot of you if you don’t stop messing around. Go clean the dining hall, it looks like shit,” Levi’s voice chastises.

You’re first to break away from the hold, leaving the training field without a farewell. The last thing you want is for the Captain to think you’re a slacker. You promised you’d work, train and fight hard, and you intended to keep that promise. You couldn’t waste any time--as much as you wanted to spend the quiet hours with your new group of friends, that wasn’t part of your role.

You enter the dining hall, mouth slightly agape as you witness the mess left behind. Myriads of dirty plates and cups line the rows of tables, crumbs scraps scattered haphazardly along the floor. It was not like this when you left after breakfast. 

Sighing, you begin with the dishes. You pile as many plates as you can into your arms, stacking cups atop as you perform a balancing act to deliver them safely to the kitchen. You place them down on the bench with a wince and grab a bucket, heading out to the well. After collecting the water, you make your way back into the kitchen and begin dipping the dishes in the water, scrubbing furiously at them. Time wears on, and the discontenting pile of dishes atop the bench does not seem to shrink. 

Almost as if hearing your prayers, Reiner enters the kitchen with another bucket of water. Balanced on his left arm, however, is another pile of dirty dishes. You groan, “There’s more?”

“Yup. Sorry.”

He kneels down across from you, scrubbing at the dishes from his own pile before drying and stacking them away. It’s painfully quiet without Sasha and Connie. You’ve grown to be quite fond of their antics. But you’re also curious about him—what lies beneath that rigid exterior? 

“What made you join the Scouting Legion?” He asks. 

You pause slightly, meeting his gaze. 

“I felt helpless in the medical division,” you admit, dropping your gaze.

“Most injured soldiers were impossible to help. We simply didn't have the tools, and they couldn’t be brought to the hospital fast enough. I was sick of feeling useless, unable to save so many of them,” you admit, pausing as your words simmer. 

“I’d be a greater asset in the Scouting Legion.” 

The plates clank as you stack them. “And I want to see who or what lies beyond the walls.”

Reiner nods, “You’ve seen what the titans are like. You’ve seen what they’ve done. And that hasn’t deterred you, so I think you belong here.”

You smile gently. 

“Why did you join? Bertholdt told me you were second in your class. You could have easily lived your life in comfort in the interior.”

Reiner pauses, lips parting. He’s churning his words over in his head, voice lowering.

“I want to serve humanity. I can’t do that inside the interior, with all of its corruption and greed. And,” he pauses wistfully, “I want to return to my homeland.”

“What’s your homeland like?”

His body completely tenses, his expression drawn into tight pensiveness. His sudden downward cast gaze makes you wonder what he’s holding back.

“It was a mountain village, far from the rivers. We were poor, with little land and even less possessions. I initially left to make my mother and father proud by becoming a hero. I’m here for the fate of humanity, now--but I want to return one day. Show them that I’m still a warrior.”

“I’m sure they’d be very proud of you, Reiner.”

“I don’t know,” he stammers. You see guilt written over his face. You sense fragility in his current state--as if one pull or tug will completely undo him, tearing him apart seam by seam, leaving him bloody and raw. It’s the first time you’ve seen the hard shell of his exterior disappear, even if only by a fraction.

“As soldiers, there’s many things we wish we didn’t have to do, or that we could have done differently. We always wonder what could have been. But the world is always changing, far beyond our control. You can’t blame yourself for anyone’s death, can’t blame yourself for things you didn’t do or couldn’t change,” you say gently. You’re speaking to yourself now, too. 

“What’s important is that we keep fighting. We keep trying. That we make our fallen friends and family proud, fighting until we’ve reached the point where we’ve served our duty and there’s no need for war anymore.” You want that, one day. You sense he does too, clear by the way his shoulders begin to sag.

“Reiner. . .I haven’t known you for very long. But I know why everyone here trusts you. It’s what made me trust you so easily all the way back in that street, even when I was weak and scared. You’re more than a warrior or a soldier. You’re a good man. ”

He looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Once the first is free, the rest would surely follow like an unbroken brook. Gently, you crawl closer to him on your knees, sliding the bucket away with the back of your boot. He looks at you, puzzled and tense, frozen as you lift your arms up and wrap them around his chest. His chest rises and falls in unison with yours, and as you press your cheek against him, you hear the heavy, quickened thrumming of his heartbeat. Gently, his hands and arms find their way around your body. Everything surrounding you begins to fade, as if the world doesn’t exist and it’s just you and him and his trembling hands travelling up your backside. You let your hand glide up his spine and higher, gently running itself along the tufts of his dandelion hair as he shivers against you. His weight grows lighter against you, and that’s when you decide it’s safe to softly pull away. 

“If you get any cuts or scrapes, you come see me, hm? I have to make sure you can get back to your hometown in one piece,” you jest in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I will.”

You watch the corners of his lips rise gently as his hand moves, gently laying over yours. He brushes his thumb across the soft skin of your palm.

Your eyes meet. A beat of silence passes between you, his gaze lowering to your lips. His eyes flicker with restraint, and he drops his gaze to the floor and pulls his hand away. 

You both continue to sit in comfortable silence, though you can’t help but notice the weight of his gaze lingering on you every few seconds. You continue to wash the last of the dishes before stacking them neatly on the wooden kitchen top. 

“Thank you,” he says quickly.

“It’s no problem. After all, you’ve spent the past week helping me. It’s the least I could do,” you say, bending downwards to lift the bucket.

“Let me carry it.”

Before you can refuse, he lifts your bucket, hands brushing as he steals it from you.

“Hey, I’m perfectly capable,” You huff, reaching for his left hand. 

In response, he lifts the bucket higher and out of your reach with a crooked grin.

“Reiner,” you whine, prodding his side with your elbow. 

He transfers the bucket to his right hand, using his left to wrap around your waist. With his arm locked around your body, he presses you against him, pulling your outstretched arm down and to your side. Your breath halts as you feel his hips press against your spine, the warmth of his fingertips reaching your skin even through your shirt. The heat spreads over the surface of your skin, and you’re glad he releases you moments later before it continues spreading. Without a word, he strides out of the kitchen swinging doors with both buckets in one hand.

Show-off.

\---

That Night

“Are you gonna eat that?” Sasha asks, pointing at your half-eaten bread roll laying by your empty soup bowl.

You shake your head, already knowing what the brunette wants. 

“Nope, all yours,” you grin, “but, only if you can catch it with your mouth.”

Like an excited puppy, she nods, opening her mouth with a muffled “Ready!”

You toss the roll and it lands perfectly in her jaw.

“Looks like we found another titan. No normal human has a mouth like that,” Jean snickers.

“That’s rich coming from you, considering you’re not human yourself,” Connie grins, mockingly neighing in response. 

The table laughs in unison; even Jean, despite being the butt of the long-overused joke. As the laughter slowly melts away, leaving a lasting smile on your face--you realise you’ve finally found a place here. Though there’s a plentitude of people you haven’t had the opportunity to speak to, you’re content with your little group. 

Reiner stands from the table, collecting his and Bertholdt’s bowl. He turns to leave, though his eyes land upon you before his body is completely turned away. “Want me to take yours?”

You shrug, “Sure. Thanks, Reiner.”

You watch him gently as he turns and leaves the table with your bowl, and when your gaze falls back to your group, you realise they’re all staring at you--even Bertholdt, whose gaze is normally politely averted. They wait for Reiner to fall out of ear-shot before three of their mouths fall open.

Connie is first to speak, a shit-eating grin stretching across his face. “Hey, hey, I think Braun is interested in you. He didn’t offer to take anyone else’s bowl away. And, I’ve been catching him eyeing you all night.”

Your cheeks flush. “Don’t be stupid, Connie. We’re just friends.”

Yet, your mind involuntarily flickers to earlier today; his muscular arm caging you against him, the warmth spreading across your cheeks and chest like a thousand gentle moths fluttering against your skin, the hum of his heartbeat against your ear while you held him tight. . .

“Oh yeah, does he think the same?”

“And did you see how mad he looked when I put my arm around you?” Jean smirks.

Bertholdt speaks up for the first time tonight; “Guys. . .he’s interested in Krista.” 

The words sting. You don’t know why, but you feel a tight, writhing sensation in your chest. You can't pinpoint what you’re feeling. 

“Psht. He’s not getting anywhere near her while Ymir is around,” Connie interjects before the conversation steers away.

You find your eyes upon Krista as the conversation blurs around you. She looks like an angel. Blonde and starry-eyed, with a smile so pure and bright it makes you sick. Her voice is soft; sweeter than the cinnamon scrolls you bought at the local bakery near your home on your way back from the hospital. And her genuine, irreproachable kindness. . .she was perfect. Of course Reiner would like her. You realise what you’re feeling, now.

It’s jealousy.

A sweet, sweet, painful, poison. 

You shouldn’t care. No; you haven’t even known Reiner for very long. You didn’t have time for petty, schoolyard pining for attention and affection. But back in the kitchen. . .you felt something. Something you haven’t felt in a very long time, even if just for a second.

You turn your gaze back towards the table. You didn’t even notice that Reiner had returned to his seat.

“I’m tired,” you lie, standing from the bench. 

“Aw, already?” Sasha pouts, “Sleep well!”

You smile, bitterly swallowing the ball in your throat, “you too.”

Reiner stands, though you don’t see Berthold’s hand on his shoulder forcing him back into his seat as he disappears behind you. 

You leave the hall quickly, beelining for your dorm room. Once there, you close the door behind you and collapse against the wooden frame. You lazily tug away your boots, tear away your clothes, and change into your sleepwear before ambling to the bed as you try to swallow away the sickening feeling pooling tighter within you. Comforted by the warmth of the blankets, you slowly descend into sleep.

\---

One week before the 57th Expedition

The Scouting Regiment, in preparation for the expedition, had spent many weeks practising the Long-Distance Enemy Scouting Formation. So far, it had been performing better than expected; though without titans, it was impossible to know how well it would continue to work. It was a brilliant strategy. Scouts on the flank and front of the formation would warn the interior columns of soldiers of titans through flare signals, with the many columns relaying the information until it reached centre command. From there, command would fire a green flare to direct the Legion away from the titan. Eren, as you and some others were told, would be safely protected in the upper right section of the formation. You wondered why he would be there and not in the centre formation, where he would be most protected. But, you trusted Erwin’s strategy and did not verbally express your perplexion.

You were to be in the third column of the right formation. It was safer than the outer columns, though that did not diminish the ability for danger to present itself at any moment. Senior Scouts Gina Fechter, a tall red-headed woman, and Captain Erhart Eishen, a grumpy brunette man, would be with you the entire time. From your preparatory run-throughs, you grew to like the pair, despite their initial hostility. They both bickered like a married couple, bringing much amusement to the bore of long, repetitive horse rides. 

“Hey!” Gina grinned, rubbing the hair on your head, “Erhart told me today’s a break day. A couple of dumbasses got injured in yesterday’s runthrough, so they’ve gotta be looked after.”

You groan, “How did they get injured?”

Gina shrugs. “Beats me. Anyway, enjoy the break! I’m gonna go find Erhart.”

“Probably still asleep,” you suggest, to which she cackles in agreement.

She waves with a gentle smile, and you’re left to your own devices. You plan to take the day as an opportunity to practice with the 3MG again. You’d quickly recouped your skills from your training days, and you hoped to extend them even further. You made your way to the supplies tent, dressed in your uniform and harness, and began refilling the gas tank of your gear as you hummed a tune your mother once sang. However, a certain short, shave-headed recruit had different plans. Connie, practically latching himself onto your arm, began groaning.

“Come on, this is our only break before the expedition, are you seriously gonna spend it training? Come down to the lake with us!”

“Connie, this is the perfect time for me to train. I don’t have anywhere to be today.”

“You can train later then! Come down to the lake, at least for an hour. It’ll do you good to relax for once.” 

Reluctantly, you nod, sighing, “Fine, but only for an hour.”

“I knew you’d eventually agree!” Connie exclaims, “Meet you down there.”

A small smile creeps on your lips as Connie rushes away, towel swung over his shoulder. Within the hour, you’re dressed in your swimwear, though you wear a blouse and skirt to save your modesty as you walk through the courtyard, towel neatly bundled in your hands. You see Krista and Ymir from across the yard, lounged beneath a tree. The freckled woman’s arms are around Krista while she dozes off in her lap, blonde hair spilling over her knees. You wave cordially before continuing down towards the dirt path that leads to the lake, disappearing into the thicket of tall trees. You worry for a moment that you’re lost as the dirt path slowly disappears from beneath your feet, though the distant sound of Sasha’s excited screams quells your fears.

Coming out of the edge of the trees, your eyes immediately settle on the little lake. The calm azure eddys round the sandy bank, encircling your fingers as you wade them through the shallows. Demurely, you turn away from the group, popping the buttons of your blouse individually. You slowly let it fall from your shoulders and to your elbows before it lands on the ground behind you, fingertips dancing round the hem of your skirt as you shimmy the fabric from your hips. Still turned away, your fingers reach into the thick of your hair, braiding it up and away from your neck. 

You turn and rush down the bank, nearly tripping as the sand slides beneath you. You act as if no one saw you, continuing down the bank a little more cautious. You hear a gruff snort from ahead, ready to mouth-off Jean, until you look up and see it’s Reiner. 

Shirtless.

And staring directly at you.

You feel your gaze start to travel down his neck and down towards his broad chest and down even lower, all the way towards the ‘V’ sculpted above his hips. You look away just as quickly, flushed in the face.

“Need me to be ready to catch you when you slip again?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, stepping into the water. 

You gasp a little as the water laps against your knees, breath hitching at the sudden chill, continuing to slowly and painfully edge yourself into the water. Frustrated with your lack of progress, you turn on your heels and race to the deep side of the lake. Sucking in a tight breath, you close your eyes and dive into the water. The cold strikes you all at once. At first, it’s painful, engulfing your skin, bones and squeezing your lungs tight like toffee. As you slowly swim towards the light cracking through the surface of the water, the chill seeps away, and you're gasping above in the air with a smile painted across your lips and cheeks. 

You can’t recall the last time you took a break. For well over a year now you’d been working, training, pushing your body and mind beyond what it should have ever been able to healthily handle. For once, it felt nice to just float into nothingness, allowing the flow of the water to guide you along, weightless. 

You float for what feels like forever, letting the water siphon all your worries and stresses from your core.

However, the peace is soon abruptly interrupted as a pair of hazel eyes stare down at you. 

“Up for a fight?” Reiner asks.

“In the water?” 

“Mhm. Sasha and Connie are demanding one.” 

You roll over, standing upright, water dancing beneath your throat. You’re unsure of what he means until you look over to your left, where Connie is taunting the pair of you, Sasha sitting on his shoulders with her fists dangling in the water. 

“I’ll take your silence as acceptance,” Reiner says, and before you can protest, his hands wrap around your thighs and hoist you high into the air. 

“Reiner!” you squeal.

“Relax, Princess. I’ve got you,” he huffs, sitting you on his shoulders. 

“Alright! Let’s go!” Connie exclaims.

Jean begins counting, “three. . .”

You glance downwards at Reiner as he begins moving closer to the pair.

“Two. . .”

You hike your hips higher, giving you more reach.

“One. . .”

You ball your fists, doing your best to ignore the warmth emanating from Reiner’s head as it sits between your thighs.

“Go!” Jean shouts.

Reiner wades quickly through the water towards Sasha and Connie. You reach your palms out and extend your fingers, interlocking them with Sasha’s. She tugs you forward, but Reiner’s hard grip on your calves keeps you grounded. You do the same, pulling her arms towards you, but the pair are surprisingly strong. The game of tug and pull continues, with neither side close to breaking. 

Reiner taps your ankle and signals upward with his left hand. You’re confused for a moment, but you slowly realise what he means. Up. With a nod, he rushes towards Connie and Sasha. 

“Ooh, I’m gonna get you this time!” Sasha grins as you approach her. 

“Pretend she’s a potato chip, Sasha. Pretend she’s a potato chip!”

“Potato chip. . .” she sighs in glee, salivating, pupils dilating. 

You gulp as you feel Reiner’s hands trek further up your legs. Once his hands are grasped around either side of your hips, he launches you up and hurtling towards Sasha and Connie. They scream in unison as you all crash into the water together, pulling Sasha down with you. Untangling their bodies, they rise to the surface, faces pale.

Cackling with laughter, you rise from the water, exclaiming, “We win!”

“Reader,” Sasha gulps, “I think I saw my eyes flash before my eyes.”

“Yeah. Same,” Connie murmurs.

A genuine, true laugh ripples through Reiner. The sound of his unrestrained laughter is beyond heavenly; echoing from deep within his chest, the light spreading across his cheeks and hazel gaze. You wish you could bottle it up and forever treasure it. Connie, Jean and Sasha look taken aback, though they soon all melt into his laughter.

As you look towards the bank, you notice Bertholdt sitting alone, his lips curved downwards into a frown. It’s only slight, but his silence and expression worry you nonetheless. 

You paddle over to Reiner, high-fiving him before moving towards the bank. Wrapping your towel around your body, you pace your way towards Bertholdt, leaving wet footprints in your wake. You move to sit beside him, gazing out at the water as you bring your knees to your chest.

“Hey, Bert,” you hum, “is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah. Why?”

“You’re not swimming and you look a little upset. I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” you say. 

His mouth drops a little, hanging agape. He turns away, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. 

“Yeah. I’m. . .I’m not much of a swimmer, that’s all.” 

“Put your legs in the water, at least. It’s nice, trust me,” you smile. 

“I’m okay. Thanks anyway.”

The silence becomes tense, and that’s when you take your cue to leave. It’s definitely well past lunchtime by now, and you feel your stomach growling in anticipation. 

You move towards the bushes, where your little pile of clothes had been left, only to find them missing. You look behind, and see them floating in the shallows of the lake. You rush over, digging your hands in the water, hoping they’re at least partially dry, only to pull up two sodden pieces of fabric. Your face burns. As much as you don’t wish for everyone in the courtyard to see you, you decide if you wear your towel and rush back to your dorm as fast as possible, it’ll save you from any embarrassment. 

You wait for the others to dry and dress themselves before you depart, dripping clothes in hand. You’re walking alongside Sasha, debating what the best meal out of your very limited options thus far was. You’re shivering, but you try your best to ignore it. You’d be back at the dormroom soon, anyway. Maybe you’d spoil yourself with a book. 

As your intensely controversial debate prolongs, Jean very assuredly stating the omelette was the best, a gentle weight falls over your shoulders. 

It’s Reiner’s shirt.

You look backwards, but his gaze is on Bertholdt as the pair speak quietly. Smiling at him anyway, you pull the soft fabric over your arms and shoulders, noting the smell of dirt and pinecones as it passes over your nose. It’s far too big for you, dipping just above your mid-thigh and hanging loosely around your waist. You try not to read into it--he looks after everyone, it wasn’t special treatment. And, regardless, Bertholdt stated Reiner’s clear devotions towards Krista. A pang of sadness strikes your belly. But, as you had decided earlier, you have no time for seeking affections, nor to wallow in what you believe to be unrequited pining. By dedicating yourself solely to your mission, you hope to suffocate the painful flame flickering within your chest. 

\---

It’s late at night when you hear a knock on the door of your dorm. Tugging at the hem of your nightgown, you move from your desk towards the door. Sasha? Likely, you two had grown quite close, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’s come to your door with snacks and gossip. 

You turn the knob of the door and pull the wooden slate towards you, ready to hug your friend. Instead of the brown-haired girl, however, you find yourself staring upwards at Reiner. He’s intimidatingly large against the narrow door frame, and you feel yourself shrink a little at the sight of him.

“Reiner,” you murmur. 

Self-consciously, you cover the front of your nightgown with folded arms.

“Sorry, I know it’s late.” he says, hand scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine. I’m a late sleeper anyway. What do you need?”

“Ointment or something. I got some pretty nasty sunburns from today,” he explains, rolling his sleeve to show his reddened skin, 

“Nope. Can’t help you,” you say and begin closing the door.

Hurt flickers across his face before you open the door again with a gentle laugh. 

“You’re mean.”

“Sit down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, whistling. 

He moves a little awkwardly, unsure of where to sit. Opting for the bed, he sits at the edge of the mattress, resting his forearms on his knees as you turn to your little cupboard. He’s glancing around the room, taking in your little personal touches; a few stacks of books organised by size, your old medical division uniform, and the picture frame of your parents. His hands reach out and hold the frame, blinking down at the image.  
You stand between your parents. You’re a lot younger in the picture--half your age now--and your hand is gently interlinked with your mother’s, your father’s eyes beaming with pride. You freeze a little as you watch him scan the image. It’s still a raw spot for you, given the recency of their passing. You haven’t opened up about it to anyone. You force the sorrow to die deep within your chest and continue searching for the ointment. 

“You haven’t grown much since then,” he gestures toward your height.

“Say that again and I’ll pour acid in this ointment.” 

He contemplates saying it again but eventually decides against it.

“It won’t really help with the healing, but it will lessen the pain and discomfort. It should prevent peeling, too,” you explain, gesturing towards a small tub of natural ointment resting between your fingertips. 

You expect him to take it and leave, but he remains where he is, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt. 

This man was making it very difficult to maintain purely platonic affection towards him. 

Sighing, you crack open the ointment lid and move towards him, standing between his legs as you coat your fingers in the waxy substance. The red is all over his face, neck and back, and you can’t quite tell if it’s from the sunburn or from his embarrassment. 

You raise a waxed finger and glide it across his cheek, rubbing it into his flesh with slow, circular motions, the buttery, floral scent coating his skin. His eyes close as you brush the ointment over the raised bone of his nose. Up close, you can see the dark bags beneath his eyes, and the gentle lines of his furrowed brows. His throat bobs with a gulp as your fingers reach lower, rubbing at the sides of his neck. 

The fabric of your nightgown hangs lower as you learn forward, Reiner’s breath hitching beneath you as he quickly darts his eyes away. Pervert.

Despite the discomfort of pressure being applied directly to the burn, your gentle massaging eases him to the point he tilts his head backwards. He’s completely silent, but the way his body melts between your fingers tells you he’s enjoying it.

“How’d you get so good at this?” he mutters. 

“Practice.” 

He raises an eyebrow at that comment, though before he can ask, you twirl your finger around, signalling for him to turn, muttering, “Not like that.”

He does as you say, turning to face the wall while you press your hands against his back. Rigid planes of muscle cover each inch of his body, rippling beneath your fingertips as you brush over them. For a soldier so well trained and strong as he is, you are surprised to see the lack of scars covering his body. 

Even you have scars, despite your limited combat experience. The largest fans across your upper right hip bone, given to you by an angry patient’s relative member. Blaming you for his wife’s untimely death, he launched at you, blade tucked between his dirty fingers. He cut deep within the flesh of your hip, but your military combat training fared well against an untrained citizen. All you remember is your racing heartbeat, the screams of other staff, and the feeling of your knee digging into his back as you forced him to the floor and called for security. You didn’t even think about the pain from the blossoming wound at your hip until a nurse ushered you towards the emergency bay.

“This would look awfully suspicious to the others,” you hum. 

“Yeah,” he says.

“You wouldn’t be worried if anyone saw?” you ask. 

“No. I'll tell them the truth. I got sunburnt, so I asked a pretty medic to help me out.”

You feel a tingling sensation rise to your cheeks. Dismissively, you snort and hold your tongue. 

Your hands move from his back, massaging the residual ointment onto your legs. The sheets rustle beneath him as he turns his body to face towards you, caging your legs between his before you can turn away, silk nightgown riding up the length of your thighs. The soft, yellowed lantern light slowly fades, leaving the two of you alone in the dark corner of your room. You feel him rise beneath you, and even in the dimness of your surroundings, you can still see how he towers over you.

There’s something in his hazel gaze that you can’t quite read as it surveys you, languidly trailing from your knees, your waist, your bare collarbones and neck and all the way up toward your eyes, sending waves of heat shooting through your veins. Your gaze shys away to the floor, though Reiner’s fingers are soon on your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. 

“Reiner,” you whisper. 

He opens his mouth to speak, fingertips growing weaker while his stare is transfixed on your lips. Weakly, he leans forward, until his breath is so close and so hot it tickles your neck. You’ve never wanted to taste something so badly. You’ve never wanted to be grabbed and pushed against the wall, powerless and breathless, trembling at the mercy of another so vulgarly and desperately before him. You want to splay your hand over his chest, tug at his hair and snap your neck backward as his lips claim yours.

But suddenly the spell is broken, his breath is gone from your neck, and he’s withdrawing, the wrinkles between his eyebrows deepening. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he hisses beneath his breath, “Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you apologising?”

His fingers reach for his shirt and circle around the buttons aligning up his chest. You frown, blocking him before he can leave without answering you. 

“I don’t deserve to touch you like that,” he stammers, the words sharp and bitter as they get caught in his throat. 

A wave of boldness courses through you. You grasp his hand, flattening it against your bare collarbone and the soft edges of your nightgown.

“I wouldn’t let anyone else,” you whisper.

His lips part, desperation dripping from his tongue, but there’s a grey cloud beneath his hazy gaze that you can’t quite reach. It pulls him away again, softer this time, yet it hurts all the same. He’s reaching for the door seconds later, and he shoots you an apologetic look before he leaves with his head hung.

Your back flattens against the door as you shut it behind you. Bracing your hand over your chest, you feel the yearning tremors of your drumming heart. 

You’ve avoided Reiner all morning. Or maybe he’s avoided you all morning. Either way, the pair of you haven’t spoken since last night’s interaction. 

He doesn’t come to breakfast, and neither does Bertholdt. Instead, they sit alone outside. 

At least breakfast was good. Grapefruit. Fresh and juicy. The Scouting Legion rarely received the nice fresh pickings, so it was a well received change. 

“Why aren’t those two sitting with us?” Jean murmurs, and the rest of your group know who he means. 

“You’re pretty close to them aren’t you, Elle? Did something happen?” Connie asks, feigning seriousness, though the smirk creeping up on his lips suggests otherwise.

“No,” you say too quickly. 

Sasha frowns at Connie, whacking him gently across the back of the head. “Leave her alone. If you don’t, I’ll gladly eat your grapefruit.” 

Connie stuffs the whole citrus right between his teeth. 

“Mrrfmprh. Mrrhmpfg gregmhph?” 

You giggle, suffocating the gnawing feeling pooling in your gut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension between you and Reiner worsens as the 57th expedition arrives.

\---  
57th Expedition Beyond The Walls

A piercing ring cuts through the air. Bells caged within towers swing viciously, the cacophonous chimes heard throughout all streets of the shingled district. The roads either side of you are cramped by homes. Curious villagers, peering through their little windows, gasp and cheer, tiny hands waving down toward you. You wave back, a boy no older than ten squealing fanatically at the gesture. You feel a gentle smile tug at your lips.

“It’s time!” A raven-haired man’s voice echoes through the troops.

Cogs the size of horses churn and grind, tugged and trawled against splintering wooden beams as the gate’s iron spires release from the ground. A sharp wind blows through the gate door as it rises, carrying dirt and gunpowder with it. Commander Erwin Smith is far ahead of you, covered in a sea of swathing green fabric. Everyone waits for his command. To your right is Gina, and ahead a little you see Armin, blonde bob tangling in the wind.

“Humanity will take another step forward. Show us what you can do!”

Unified, a sea of fists and blades rise into the air, the song of soldier’s cries and cheers spreading amongst the crowd. Few cheers tremble, others exaggeratedly excited, but they all merge to nothing against the prepollent booming of Commander Erwin.

“Advance!”

The formation descends, hooves and cart wheels pounding and rolling against the stone pavement, capes snapping backward, tugged by the wind, the chiming bells now faded and far behind. The support team stays behind to deal with titans that should follow, whilst the remainder of the procession continues venturing deeper into the thick of titan territory. 

Now in the wide expanse of green fields, the formation splits, widening its two great wings. You veer to the right, nodding to Gina and Erhart as they push ahead and out, becoming darkened silhouettes flickering far in the distance. 

It’s strangely peaceful. The trees rustle as the breeze brushes through, tiny blue-dotted birds diving through the thick of leaves and tangles of branches. Fresh grass, kicked up by the horse, lands in tiny clumps behind like a scattered mosaic. Over you, the cloudless blue sky stretches far and wide like a sheet of sparkling sapphires. 

It’s far nicer than the hospital. The only sky that greeted you there was darkened, splintering rafters. The grass was tiled grey and washed in blood, and the chirping of birds were the agonising groans and gasps of the wounded and ill. You try not to be too pleased with your surroundings; you know that at any moment, an abnormal could slip through the formation, wrecking a path of havoc, tearing apart soldiers and horses before a blade finally slices through the thick of its nape.

A red flare rises to your right. Another follows, continuing the procession. It reaches you, now, and you fumble your hand between the fabric and around the hilt of the flare. You slide a red-ringed shell through the barrel, stretch your arm upward, and press your finger down upon the trigger. The flare crackles, searing through the air and leaving behind it a cloud of crimson. 

Less than half a minute later, green flares rise from your left flank. Repeating the procedure, you load the green-ringed shell into the flare and shoot. The pattern continues, spreading to your right as you follow the green signals, avoiding the spotted titan. The pattern continues for well over an hour without issue. Erwin’s genius had paid off once again.

But something has changed. The birds aren’t chirping anymore. They’re shooting through the trees. It’s eerily silent, save for the pounding of your horse’s hooves. He whinnies beneath you, agitated, pulling his head towards the left. 

“Hey, hey,” you hush, gently stroking his neck, “you’re all right, boy.”

The silence breaks. Thundering footsteps crack behind you. Your horse’s whinnies grow frantic, kicking and jeering to and fro, and you struggle to contain his agitation.

You turn your head around to see a titan, around fifteen metres, running directly behind you. It looks nothing like the others; female and pure, sinewy muscle. Quickly, you reach for your flare gun, fumbling for the black-rimmed shell. You load it into the gun and press down on the trigger, but it doesn’t shoot. You try again, adjusting the shell as the footsteps grow louder, but no flare rises. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you breathe, fumbling for another shell. You’re certainly not skilled enough to try and take this Abnormal on alone. 

“Elle!” Gina’s voice shouts. Erhart by her side, the pair fall in line with you, readying their blades. 

The winding wires of Gina’s ODM gear crackles, pronged hooks sinking into the titan’s flesh as she launches, propelled by the gas. She readies her blades, angling her body as she prepares to carve through the nape. 

The titan’s hand darts to her neck, covering the skin. The grapples fall away, though Gina snaps them quickly into the titan’s wrist, saving her fall. Mid-way through her propulsion, the titan’s other hand swings around, grasping Gina. The cables of her gear fall away.

“Gina!” you shout, raising your blades.

Before you can launch at the titan, Erhart swings around, ODM gear snapping him to the titan’s elbow by her neck. He swings, blades twirling as he strikes the elbow and cleanly slices it in two. The forearm and hand fall away from her nape, crashing to the ground in a cloud of steam. Gina screams, the fingers around her tightening. Frantically, Erhart snaps towards the hand holding her, but it’s too late.

The fingers tighten further with a bone-crunching snap. A gush of blood explodes between the titan’s grasp, the fingers releasing and dropping Gina’s crumpled body with it. 

“You fucking bitch!” Erhart’s voice is sharp and guttural, as if everything other than rage has been pried from deep within him.

The hand snaps towards him, picks him up in the flat of her palm, and throws his body to the ground. You watch him fall beneath her feet as one crushes him, leaving him still and lying in the dirt metres away from Gina’s corpse.

Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you launch from your horse, ODM gear whirring and tugging you towards the exposed nape of her neck. Your blades rest steadily in your grasp and you ready yourself to slice them deep within her neck. The same hand that killed your two comrades reaches for you, pressing your two wires together as she tangles you in mid-air like a little puppet.

Strung in the air, the titan lowers you forwards and in front of her face. You meet her gaze; cold, blue, and sharply narrowed. Your mouth falls open, your breath and words dissipating as she stares. The titan’s pace slows.

Her fingertips grasp you by the hood of your cape, holding you high as the ground blurs beneath you. Her hand lowers, fingertips releasing their hold on your greek cloak. Perched on the oak branch, you watch the titan regain its pace and continue sprinting, directing itself towards the inner columns of the formation.

Shaking, you choke a forceful breath. The world fuzzes around you, pangs of adrenaline continually striking your body. You can’t hear anything amongst the painful buzzing in your ears, and you lie still, the images of Gina and Erhart’s bodies falling away burning behind your closed lids. The titan. . .she just stared at you. Stomped and crushed your comrades, yet perched you upon the branch. Maybe she thought you would die anyway, waiting for another tall titan to reach up and pull you down. Or maybe she thought you’d roll off the tree and fall to the ground and die from the impact. Maybe the titan was cruel enough to know you’d starve slowly or give up and draw your blades across your throat.

You sit up from the branch, grasping either side to maintain your balance as clarity courses through your mind.

There’s still a mission. You can still do something. You can’t let Gina and Erhart’s deaths go to waste. 

Sticking your fingers in your mouth, you whistle for your horse. 

Nothing.

You try again, and all that meets you is the sound of the breeze as it carries through the tree. 

You whistle again.

“Elle!” A pitched voice shouts.

You look down and see Krista. Beside her stands your horse and another spare.

“Are you okay?” She yells from beneath.

“Yeah,” you lie. 

Hooking into the tree, you slowly descend down toward the safety of the ground. Krista’s soft face is contorted, eyebrows raised and eyes stricken. “I-I thought. . .Gina and Erhart were-”

You nod, swallowing a painful knot dwelling deep within your throat. “An Abnormal came through.”

“Did you kill it?” She asked, eyes wide. 

Slowly, your head shook sideways, “No. It. . .lifted me up with my gear and put me on the tree,” you say, voice dying to near a whisper.

“It almost seemed human. I’ve never seen nor heard a titan act the way it did.”

Krista frowned, tapping at her chin, “Me neither, from what you’re describing.”

You know it couldn’t have been a normal titan, not even an Abnormal one. The way its gaze surveyed you was far too measured, far too precise, and how it settled you back down. . .

“Do you think it’s like Eren?” You ask. You don’t know much about the boy, and have had very limited interactions within him, but you know the one thing everyone else does--he’s a titan shifter.

Krista gasps, “I. . .I suppose it’s not impossible, but we haven’t seen any others like Eren.”

Nodding, “If there are more, they’ll reveal themselves eventually. Anyway, let’s run up ahead, we should tell the others. Armin and Jean’s column is only one ahead of mine.”

Krista offers a nod and a warm smile, though you see the pained worry directed toward you beneath it. You force your spine straight, rigid and upright as if a rod had been inserted between the segments. You’re not quite sure how much longer you can continue forcing the tumultuous concoction of emotions lower and deeper within your chest before they rise, bubbling, frothing and boiling until it destroys you.

Together, you ride onward, hoping to catch up with Armin’s squad to warn them if they have not already faced the titan. It’s quiet between the pair of you. You’re not sure what to say to her, and you assume she thinks the same.

A horse frantically gallops towards you both, whinnying and panic-stricken. You outstretch your arm as it passes, grasping the reins and forcing it to your side. The pull of the beast nearly topples you from your saddle, but it relaxes and falls alongside the little herd Krista cultivated. 

“Hey, isn’t that Jean’s horse?” Krista asks.

You nod, worry biting your nerve endings, “I think so.”  
You waste no time to continue your procedure ahead. 

You’re close to reaching Armin’s column, now, passing through an abandoned, demolished town; now little more than crushed stone and wood. As you stride through, a building collapses. Beneath the grey debris emerges a titan, mouth widely outstretched as it barrels toward you on all fours.

You veer your horse to the left, but it’s too late. The hand grasps your leg, lifting you high in the air and towards its two rows of blunt teeth. Krista shouts your name below, her desperate attempts to slow and control the horses futile as she struggles to round them. You reach for your wires, pulling the blades toward you, hoping to use the gas-propelled triggers to rush away. But you know you don’t have the time.

The titan groans in anticipation, pooling salivation dripping over the lower corner of its mouth. You sit up, trying to unhook your singular leg from its grasp, but the titan’s fingers are far too strong and wide. Your eyes lower, settling on the unattached blades sitting at your hip. 

Frantically fumbling, you pull one of the blades from the socket, wincing as the sharp slices across the surface of your skin, waiting for the right moment for your final and only attempt at cheating death.

Its fingers dangle you dangerously beneath its teeth. The saliva coats the pants of your white uniform as you lean up, grasping tighter against the blade with a wince. The titan’s jaw lowers, but before it can bite between your knees, you force the blade up into the roof of its mouth. It bites down, the lower edge of the blade sinking into the bottom of its mouth. The metal blade holds the two apart, buying you time. 

You use the opportunity to grasp the wires of your blades and desperately wind them towards you, grasping the hilt of each sword as they reach your wrists. Swords in hand, you angle your body and slice yourself free from the titan’s grasp. You plummet toward the ground, but you press the triggers and the grapples wind you around toward the titan’s back.

One metre and ten centimetres.

You raise the blades up high and angled. The grapples and gas whir and wind as it tugs you towards the spine of the titan.

One metre and ten centimetres.

Twisted, your arms and hands work together to drag the metal cleanly across the nape. Titan blood surges and splashes from the wound, splattering all over your uniform before the body falls forward, dragging you with it.

One metre and ten centimetres.

A heavy boom sounds across the ground as the titan’s body collapses. Steam erupts from the flesh of the monster and the blood spots painted over your uniform, evaporating half a heartbeat later as if it had never been there in the first place.

Krista gasps beside you, marvelling at your defeat of the Abnormal. The only thing that tells you this is reality is the pulsating adrenaline crackling through your veins. You’re not really sure how you did it, either. 

Spiralling away from the tumbled corpse of the titan, you propel yourself towards your horse. One leg thrown over the saddle, you kick its side and continue. A hiss sounds from your lips as the reins connect with your unrecovered wound.

“Your hand,” Krista gasps. 

Your gaze lowers. A chunk, a third of the size of your palm, is hanging loosely from your left hand. Thick scarlet drips from the wound.

“It’s fine,” you say, “I’ll fix it up once we reach the others.”

Krista’s mouth curls downwards, “All right. . .I’m sure they’re not too far away.” 

The thick of the trees disperse as the ruined town fades behind. Great expanses of dried, brittle grass stretch ahead. A sparse gathering of trees stands lonesome in the centre of the barren, abandoned farmland, and you almost continue to rush past it until you hear a high-pitched whistle sear through the air. 

“Did you hear that?”

The whistle rings through the air again, this time you can pinpoint its location, steering the reins and rushing towards the few trees. As the pair of you ride forward, three green-cloaked figures emerge from the distance. 

“It’s them!” Krista gasps, voice raising an octave.

You dig your heels tight against your horse. Picking up speed, you watch as Jean, Armin and Reiner come into view. Relief paints their tired faces. All but Reiner, with his standard stoic slate, beam at the sight of the pair of you. 

“My horse!” Jean gushes, rushing towards its side and running his fingers through the dry bristles of his hair. 

“He ran towards me, terrified. Oh, I’m so glad we found you!” Krista says, burying her face in her hands.

“How’s your wound, Armin?” You ask, gesturing to his head.

“Mhm, I’m all right. Thanks, Elle.”

You slide away from your horse, rushing towards the brown bag strapped to its loin as Krista releases the horses. From deep inside the bag’s contents, you draw out a bandage and a small vial of alcohol. Sinking your teeth into the flesh of your bottom lip, you disperse the liquid onto your hand, a strangled whine escaping your lips as the burning sensation ripples and spirals through the raw, pink flesh and up towards your forearm.

Tears brim in the corners of your eyes as you struggle to maintain coherency of words and thought, as if the day’s events are all finally catching up on you all at once. You wrap the white cotton tightly around your hand, holding the little flap of skin in place, though it does little to numb the pain nor halt the unrelenting flow of blood as it seeps from the abyss of the blossoming wound. 

“I can’t believe you found us, Krista,” Reiner says. 

“I was nearby, and I already had Jean’s horse. Also, Elle knew what place you had in the formation, so we followed that.”

“Even horses like you. You have a strange charisma,” Reiner adds, “You saved our lives.”

Reiner’s disregard sends a pang of pain through your stomach. Even now, he was still ignoring you. You had cheated death not once but twice, and this is the bitter reward you’re met with. 

Two can play at that game.

“I-I’m just so glad you’re all okay. I thought the worst had happened to you,” Krista sniffs, wiping away tears from her eyes. 

Red clustered spots cover Jean’s forearm. Jagged scratches cover the bruised canvas of his skin. Grasping pads of cotton between your fingertips, and the vial of alcohol, you brush past Reiner to reach Jean’s side.

“Hey, horse-face,” you hum, “mind if I help clean those? You don’t want them getting infected.”

His eyebrows raise. 

“Yeah, sure,” he huffs, leaning backwards whilst seated on the ground, forearm outstretched. 

Your gentle fingertips circle up his wrist, pulling away the fabric of his tunic. His arm tenses in response. Tilting the bottle of alcohol, a few drops drip out, landing upon the cotton pads. You draw the moist fabric across his wounds, wiping away the dirt and mud laced between the scrapes. Jean’s lips curl into a wince as you dab another sodden pad over the wounds, head tilted away so as to not be embarrassed by his reaction.

Once cleaned and sanitised, you wrap a bandage over his wounds, applying enough pressure to halt the slow flow of bleeding. He swallows a hard lump in his throat as you pull away. 

“Thanks,” he says.

You nod in response, “No problem. Hey, did your group encounter a titan before we came? One came through my column. A little less than fifteen metres, blonde hair?”

Jean nods, “Yeah, we tried following it but we lost it. It. . .it wasn’t like any other titan we’ve seen.”

“I think it’s like Eren,” you say, “A shifter.”

Jean nods. His eyes roam over to the left, landing on something behind you, before he sits up and walks away with raised eyebrows. Your head follows the direction Jean leaves, body turning before your gaze catches glimpse of a figure looming behind you.

Reflexively, you jump backward. However, your boot connects with a raised root, teetering your balance and sending you flat against your back.

Reiner stands above you, expressionless.

He reaches his hand down, hoisting you back up on your feet as you demurely wipe away the dirt from your backside. 

“Your hand.” He says, almost as a question.

“Abnormal. I stuck a blade between its teeth. Cut myself in the process.”

“My first titan kill,” you add weakly.

It doesn’t feel like anything to celebrate. You can’t celebrate. Not after Gina. Not after Erhart.

Your head droops low as you move to sit on a jagged rock.

“I was worried about you,” he says, lowering to sit beside you.

A thousand fireflies brush beneath your skin. Unresolved frustration from his treatment bubbles through you, sharpening the words as they leave your tongue:

“I didn’t think you would be, considering you’ve ignored me for a week now.”

Reiner’s mouth drops a little.

“I didn’t do it because I wanted to.”

“Then why?” You ask, voice weak and rough. You’ve been through so much already. You can’t handle much more of this. 

“Why? I kept thinking about why, and I couldn't find a reason. I stayed up all night for days, wondering what I had done to deserve to be treated as if I didn’t exist--why you wouldn’t even look at me. Why I couldn’t give Sasha or Connie an answer when they asked the same question, and why I still care about you regardless. I just want you to be honest with me, Reiner,” you say, drawing in a withheld breath. 

“I understand you like to keep people at a distance. I understand you don’t like vulnerability, and that there’s a lot about you I don’t know and will likely never come to know. I just want you to be honest with me. If you can’t promise me that, then I don’t know if I can keep up this game.”

Reiner’s hand roams over your knee. You hear him draw in a sharp breath. He’s silent, churning the words through his head.

“When I return to my hometown, I can’t bring anyone with me. I’ve always been okay with that.” he murmurs, gaze lowered. “Lately, however, I haven’t been. I thought ignoring you would be better. We’d grow apart. That way if anything happened to either of us, the other wouldn’t be as upset.”

“But today,” he murmurs shakily, “I thought you were gone. Seeing you again, wounded but alive. . .I don’t know if I’ve felt relief like that ever before.” 

He turns, now, body faced towards yours as his hand tentatively grasps yours, avoiding the wound as his thumb traces along the edges of the bandages.

“I promise I won’t treat you like that again. And until I need to leave, I’m going to stay by your side and keep you safe,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours.

Lastly, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Relaxing into his grasp, your hands steady, all sensations but the warmth of his skin and breath against yours disappearing. Your shoulders slump as you lean against him, conflicted yet guiltily wanting more of the contact overriding your senses.

“You’re gonna have to make it up to me real good for me to forgive you,” you whisper, his breath blowing against your cheek as he laughs in response. 

“I know.”

The tension in the air releases. A little part of you, sitting deep within your stomach, can’t help but feel conflicted at the mention of his departure. Would it be worth it? Allowing yourself to grow closer to him, developing a connection, only for him to be ripped away from you? You’ve lost your parents. Your home. Your friends, comrades and peers. And you don't know what losing Reiner would do if this continued.

“Hey, guys . . .the retreat flare was fired,” Armin says.

You quickly pull away from Reiner, releasing a guttural cough from your throat as you circle around the tree and stride back to your house. Armin watches you pass, one eyebrow raised, though Reiner walking past half a heartbeat later allows him to draw the final connections. 

A cobalt blue plume of gas towers high in the air. The group disperses moments later, Jean’s horse taking the forefront. You fall to the tail of the formation, a slight breeze ruffling through the white of the horse’s mane. Reiner slows, falling just ahead of you in the formation, and you catch his hazel gaze on you every few minutes. If today hadn’t been so horrible, maybe you would have lingered longer on the thought.

Within the hour, your group is back within the main formation. The columns are significantly narrower, sparser, and filled with a dreadful quiet. You don’t wish to think about how many were lost today for little, if any, reward.

You try not to wonder how many anxious families anticipate their return. How many fathers, mothers, wives and husbands sit in their homes, awaiting the arrival of the Legion. How many children will excitedly watch from their windows as the soldiers pass below, searching for their heroic mama or papa, only to see processions of the wounded and scarred. The lucky ones will see their families tonight. Hold them tight, kiss them dear, until they must say farewell once again.

You’ve survived. Though, the only thing that will greet you tonight is the comfort of your empty room, the gentle flickering of the lantern light as it glazes over your parent’s faces as they sit in their frame. 

You’re standing in a field full of dead Scouts, tallying the piled bodies around you on a slip of paper--nameless, uniformed corpses. They total well over a hundred, tangled in bloodied sheets, stretched out over the grass. Other Scouts hoist them away. You report the numbers to Erwin who offers little more than a grave nod.

You’re on the run again an hour later, swarms of titans closing in on the rear. Bodies fall from the carts, pushed by Scouts, faces contorted in anguised horror. The corpses are trampled and pounded into the rumble of the titan’s footsteps, sheets unrolling as a gale catches the edges of the fabric, exposing the bitterly bruised and bloodied bodies of the fallen. 

Arriving back through the gates. . .you’ve never felt such scornful eyes on you before. The same citizens that cheered you on enthusiastically at dawn now spit at your feet, glaring at the wings embroidered over your back. They shout obscenities at Erwin. An old man desperately grasps at the edge of Levi’s cape. 

Gina and Erhart’s dying screams ring through your ears. 

You swallow the ball of knives in your throat, forcing your gaze upwards as a man curses at you.

They’re citizens, they don’t understand. You understand why they’re angry, why they’re scorning you. A man curses at you. Rather than cast your gaze downward, you meet his eyes, chin raising as you offer a smile. 

He steps back, eyes widening, silent and jaw agape.

\---  
That Night

The stars blink above you as you lie in the middle of the training field. The sky is cloudless, moonlight casting over the surface of your skin.

115 corpses were counted today. 115 families torn apart. Even more were missing.

Your hand raises to the sky, stretching your fingers out, moonlight shining between them. It’s the colour of the titan’s eyes, you realise as an image of her conjures in your mind. Her fingers, puppeteering you; her cold, crescented gaze analysing your face, as if she recognised you; the sound of Gina and Erhart’s bones crushing and cracking beneath the weight of her body--it all comes rushing back. 

Footsteps slowly drag through the dirt ahead of you. Propped on your elbows, you sit up, startled. 

“Who’s there?”

You watch as Reiner walks forward. His eyebrows raise as his gaze lands upon you.

He’s changed out of his uniform, wearing a black tunic and loose grey jacket. “Elle? Why are you out here so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you sigh, sinking back down, “How about you?”

“Push-ups. I couldn’t sleep either, thought that’d tire me out enough to crash later.” 

He strides closer, bending to sit beside you. 

“You would do push-ups now? After today?”

He shrugs, “It calms me down.” 

You can’t help but snort a little, “Strange meditative procedure. Most people drink themselves to sleep, or go into town to get laid.”

“Most people don’t lie in the middle of a training field alone.”

“I’m not alone now.” 

He smiles a little, laying down beside you as his hazel gaze lifts up and toward the stars. 

You both lie in silence. He smells like earth and soap. It’s an odd mixture, though comforting nonetheless. 

“I wonder how far the stars reach,” you whisper. 

He lifts his hand up, fingers stretching above him beside your hand. His hands are rough and calloused, veins travelling all the way from the back of his hand and up past his forearm. Your hand looks tiny beside his.

“My mother used to say that each star was a different world. Different people, different languages. . .maybe there’s even a world without Titans,” you hum.

You sit up on your elbows again, staring down at him.

“And the ocean. . .maybe there’s a star that’s just the ocean, stretching far and wide and blue.”

“The ocean?” He snorts.

“Well, I don’t know how the ocean works.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he says, “I can tell you it probably won't be in the sky, though.”

“Yeah,” you laugh a little.

“I’ll take you one day. We’ll see it together.”

His hand roams over the dirt, searching for yours.

“And the stars?”

“And the stars,” he answers, and you feel his eyes on your lips. 

“Oh, really?”

He nods, “Depends on how well you make sure I don’t get sick, Doc.”

You snort, silence falling between you again as you meet each other’s gaze. You feel his eyes leave yours, resting upon your lips.

“Promise me,” you say.

“What?”

“Promise me that you’ll take me to see the stars and the ocean.” 

He’s silent, lips parted, nervously averting away from your gaze.

“Reiner.”

“I promise,” he says quickly. 

A beat of silence passes between you. Your eyes meet; they lower, rise to his hazel gaze and lower again, landing upon his lips. Slowly, you creep forward on your elbows, craning your neck and allowing your unbandaged hand to rise up and over his bicep towards his shoulders, finally resting along the bone of his jaw. You hesitate, but it doesn’t matter. His lips are on yours in a matter of seconds, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as he draws you closer towards him. 

Neither of you breathe a word as your lips intertwine slowly, intentionally, measured. His hands move to grasp your hips, bending and lifting you so you’re sitting atop his lap. You groan a little, and it stirs something within him, his kisses becoming hungrier, needier. He breathes your name against your lips as you break away from the kiss, drawing a trail of saliva with you. Once you’ve caught your breath, you dive back in, kissing him wildly and desperately, this time with your tongue. 

You feel him rise beneath you, gently sitting up as your straddling thighs spread wider around his hips. Suddenly, he slams you onto the ground on your back, teeth biting at your lower lip. You wince a little from the impact and he withdraws, breathless.

“You alright? Did I hurt you?” He asks, eyes widened.

Shaking your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and drag him back in. Before your lips can meet, he turns your head to the side, pressing it against his hand flattened along the ground so as to not dirty your skin. His lips lower to where your jaw and neck connect, gently kissing and suckling at the sensitive skin. 

Your breath leaves your body as you moan his name into the night air, hands raising to draw themselves down and along the raised planes of his chest and stomach. His free hand is searching the sides of your body, brushing over your clothed breasts and hips as it continues down towards your thigh, squeezing as he takes it into his hold. 

“Reiner,” you gasp, his teeth drawing across your collarbone.

“Shh, Princess,” he mutters, voice lowering an octave, “You don’t want the others to wake up, do you?”

His lips continue lowering, heat soaring over your body wherever his lips meet your skin. Your hands fan across his abdomen as his lips reach the curve of your breast. Your breath hitches as you rise beneath him, one hand slipping beneath his shirt, abdomen flourishing with burning heat as your hand soars over the hard muscle.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans against your skin, fingers deftly popping the first few buttons of your blouse.

The tips of your ears burn as your hips rise to grind against his.

“Oi, who the fuck is out here?” 

Reiner freezes, uttering “shit,” before breaking apart from the kiss.

“Answer me,” the voice sounds again, lowering into a growl. 

“Reiner Braun, Sir,” He yells out, covering you with his grey jacket. 

“Go to sleep, Cadet. What are you doing out here?”

Reiner leaves your side, breathless and red faced as he strides towards the figure looming in the entrance to the training yard. His voice is muffled as distance spreads between you, but you can still discern his words.

“Exercising, Sir.”

“This late?”

“Yes, Sir. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I don’t care. You’re being a loud nuisance.” 

The figure turns their head towards where you lay, stomach tightening, hoping the darkness is enough to not let your presence be known. 

“Anyone here with you?” The voice asks again, and you now recognise it as Captain Levi.

“No,” Reiner says quickly--the speed of his words is a telltale sign of his ingenuity. 

“Tch. Get out of here.”

Reiner nods, striding away from the training field. He doesn’t look back, and you don’t blame him--it would raise suspicion, and Captain Levi would lecture both of you if you were caught.

Once you hear only the gentle chirping of crickets through the bushes and the whisper of the night’s breeze, you sit upright, shrugging Reiner’s jacket around your shoulders, the smell of him all over you. You creep your way back to your room, slide your boots off at the door, and flop on your back atop of the mattress, heart pounding. 

As you close your eyes, descending into slumber, the last sight you see is Reiner’s hazel gaze looming above you. A thousand fluttering fireflies find their way into your stomach, burning hot.  
\---  
One day later

You’re in the stables just after dawn on stable duty. It’s one of the only things you can do with your injury. Jean is with you, covering another bedridden recruit, clearing out the dirty hay and relining the ground with the fresh stuff. As expected, you drop a couple of horse related jokes, and even more expectedly, you’re met with eyerolls. You give him the same treatment when he complains about Eren’s attitude, or rambles about Mikasa. You wonder if he will ever get over her.

“Hey, what’s that?” Jean asks.

“Hm?”

His hand ghosts towards your ear as he leans over the stable divider, brushing away the hair falling in front of your jaw. You jerk a little at the sudden contact, reddening. 

“Oh,” he says, retracting his hand. 

“What, Jean? If there’s dirt or a bug just tell me, I can wipe it away.”

“It’s. . . not either of those,” he says, pink burning across the bridge of his nose.

“What is it then?”

He looks away. 

“Jean!”

“A hickey! It looks like a hickey!”

Your jaw goes slack. Your cheeks tingle, and you turn away from him dismissively, “That’s not possible. It’s just a bruise.”

He scoffs with an eye roll, “You’re a worse liar than me. That’s an achievement.” 

“I-It’s not a hickey.”

He’s silent, staring at you.

“Even if it was, it shouldn’t matter,” you add.

“I wouldn’t judge you for it,” Jean murmurs, turning to scrub at the horse’s coat again. 

You make an extra addition to your daily tasks: one, finish stable duty; two, clean your room; three, lecture Reiner; four, cover up the purple spot. Within the hour, the stables are clean and restocked with hay, and you’re back in the main courtyard of the Headquarters. A green-garbed messenger rushes through the paved area, sprinting for the command quarters. You haven't been invited to any of the recent meetings, given your injuries.

Frustration trickles from your neck through to the nerve endings in your fingertips. But, there’s nothing you can do. For now, you can only wait for your wound to heal and regain your strength as quickly as possible. 

You spend the remaining days at headquarters, reading, exercising, and managing medical inventory whilst your comrades conduct the assault on the Stohess District. You lectured Reiner, too, though he seemed more amused rather than concerned, merely remarking that he’d leave it in a more private spot next time. 

A large proportion of the 104th cadets were unable to participate. You chalk it down to their inexperience and the sensitivity of the mission, unaware of Officer fears of conspirators being among the recruits. One benefit of being stationed at base with the recruits means you have more time to spend with Reiner outside of your duty hours. However, it’s hard to get him alone, with Bertholdt always lingering close to his side.

When the recruits and senior soldiers return a day later, you hear news of the traitor. Annie Leonhardt. Military Police, unsurprisingly. You’ve heard her name once before, but you can’t quite think of when or where. 

Your mind recalls your first and only meeting. Her titan fingers around your cloak. Ocean-coloured eyes scanning your face; as if they were trying to recognise you. She spared you, even though you had never met her and she otherwise had no reason to not trample upon you like she did to Gina and Erhart.

It wasn’t pity. Someone like that couldn’t feel pity, you’re sure. But what was it, then? Why would a monster like that spare you?

The thought that one of your comrades could potentially be working with her simmers in the back of your mind.  
\---  
Later that afternoon

Rising on your heels, you reach for the top shelf of the medical cabinet. Your fingers fumble for the cylindrical laudanum bottle, stocked high and far from reach. 

“Come on,” you groan, fingertips brushing across the paper label. 

You’re so close to reaching it. If you had a small step, or if your arm was an inch longer, you’re sure you would have it.

Suddenly, warmth blossoms just beneath your ear, a hand tracing the line of your spine down toward the curve of your ass. You freeze, though quickly recognise Reiner’s scent. He reaches and effortlessly grabs the laudanum bottle, lips brushing past the sensitive skin of your neck as his voice rumbles across your skin. 

“Need a little help, Princess?”

“I had it,” you protest, fingers closing around the bottle.

Hand remaining on your rear, he releases his grasp from the bottle. He doesn’t let you move, pressing you close against the wood of the cabinet, the cold of the glass tickling your skin as your cheek presses on it. Standing breathless, his hand continues to lower, wrapping down and forward, grasping your thigh. 

“Mhm, sure you did.” 

His name leaves your lips, and it takes all of your resolve to grab his hand and pry it from the flesh of your thigh. 

“Anyone could walk in right now. And, I’m on medical duty,” you explain, turning so you’re staring up at him. You wonder how someone of his size sneaked in undetected. 

“Just here for some ointment.”

You raise a doubtful eyebrow. 

“And to come say hello.” 

“You sure have an odd way of greeting people. Do you grab all your friends like that?”

“No,” he says with a little grin, “Only one.”

Smiling, you turn away, moving towards the bench to dilute the laudanum for an insomniac soldier. Reiner watches you the entire time, back against the brick wall. His eyes flicker towards the barely fading purple on your neck, though he knows better than to comment on it. You speak a little about the procedure and the drug. He listens, but he doesn’t really understand it all very well.

“Did you always want to do this?” He asks.

“Hm?”

“Medicine.”

You pause, a gentle hum vibrating against your lower lip. 

“I grew up with it. My parents owned their own medical clinic. Medicine is all I ever really knew until I joined the military.”

“Where’d you grow up?”

The question forces a pained pause. The memories are flooding back, now. But you can’t let them, you’ve tried for so long to keep them down. To keep them buried, tucked away safe for them to slowly fade, allowing you to continue your duties. But you’re not sure how much you can bear, now, holding this falsified pillar of strength. The cataclysmic events of Trost, everything between and during the expedition, Gina, Erhart, the piled bodies. . .

“Trost,” you answer, “The medical clinic was along the main road to accomodate for travellers from Wall Sina.” 

Your head lowers. “It’s. . .not there anymore.”

Reiner’s silent. You hear him move from the wall, heavy footsteps padding closer.

“O-once the Armoured Titan broke through,” you tremble, his arms enveloping you, “It collapsed under the force of the debris. My parents. . .they were both working that day.”

Once the words leave your aquiver lips, your knees weaken, and you fall into his arms. “I-I didn’t know until hours after. I was in the Hospital, waves of injured, dying soldiers and civilians coming inside--” he lowers to the ground as you cling to him. 

“A soldier told us what happened. Told us the main gate was crushed through, just like all those years ago. My manager allowed me to go, but I refused. I-I couldn’t go, not with all of the patients. When it was finally safe to return, I reached the strip where the centre sat. . .was flattened, a rock as big as a house sitting atop it,” you shudder, tears burning in your eyes.

“I knew they couldn’t be alive. But I tried anyway, I dug through the debris, the rock and the shingles and the wood. My fingers were cut up and bloody but I didn’t care, I kept digging until I passed from exhaustion. When I woke up alone in the hospital . . .I knew what happened. I didn’t feel anything at first. I didn’t think about it, didn’t speak about it, kept pushing on . . .”

You feel the wet fabric of his shirt, drenched from your tears. 

“They took everything from me, the Armoured and the Colossal titan.”

His arms tighten around you as he utters, “I’m sorry,” repeatedly in your ear. You don’t have the strength to keep speaking. Instead, you lay weakly against him, forcing breaths through the choking hold of your sobbing, reeling you forward with the force of a tempestuous thunderstorm, only braced by the strength of his arms as he cages you against him. The weight of your sorrows, heavily hanging on your shoulders, unfurls like a ribbon, tugging and pulling, leaving you raw and broken. He holds you tenderly, trembling a little himself but you don’t notice.

Exhaustion slowly drips through your body as minutes turn to hours. Your vision fades to black, and the last thing you feel is the ground beneath you falling away as Reiner’s hands scoop you up into his arms.

\---  
You’re not sure what time it is when you wake up. You’re back in your room, darkness enveloping your surroundings. Weakly, you kick the sheets away from your legs, gasping in pain as you accidentally press down on your wounded hand. 

“Hey, hey,” a voice grumbles from your side. 

It’s Reiner. The pain subsides a little.

Dazed from pain and your abrupt rise, you don’t really remember how either of you got there. Regardless, his presence is enough.

“Go back to sleep.” 

You shake your head. “I’m fine. I can get back up. I gotta . . .”

“No,” he says sternly, hand pressing against your chest, pushing your back flat against the mattress, “you’re staying right there.”

“Reiner, I can’t sleep. I have--”

He places one finger over your lips, silencing you.

Weakly, you roll over, facing the wall. 

“How can I know you won’t try and leave? You’re a stubborn little thing.”

“You can’t,” you mutter. 

Silence passes between you. The sheets rustle beside you, mattress creaking against the weight of his body as he lays down beside you. 

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t leave,” he mutters, wrapping his arm around your waist and tugging you backwards and up against him. 

“Reiner. . .”

“No. Rest. It’s past dinnertime, anyway.”

“The laudanum--”

“I gave it to him.”

You’re quiet.

“You didn’t need to do that for me.”

“You’ve done plenty for me. It’s the least I could do after. . .for everything.”

You nestle into the comforting warmth of his arms as his breath tickles your ear. 

“Thank you, Rein.”

His eyebrows raise. He’s never really had a nickname. It’s a foreign sensation, but it brings a smile to his lips nonetheless.

“For everything,” you add. 

He pulls you closer; pressed so tight against him that you can feel his drumming heartbeat reverberate through your entire body. You slowly drift to sleep, calmed by the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the warmth of his arms as he cages you. That night, you dream of the stars as you drift through the ocean, Reiner’s hand interlinked with yours as you both float far away from everything.  
\---  
When you wake up, Reiner isn’t there. Half-asleep, you stumble out of bed, wondering when he had left or if he had even been in your room last night. You couldn’t have dreamed it, though. His scent still lingers in your sheets, and sitting by your desk is a handwritten note.

His handwriting is messy. The letters are uneven, slightly crooked, and a little lopsided. Strangely, it’s charming. 

"Good Morning.

I left urgently. There’s been a breach in the wall. 

I didn’t want to wake you, you looked too pretty. And you needed the sleep, too.

I know you’ll be mad at me, but this way you won’t try to come. You need to heal. Stay safe while I’m gone, please. I’ll be back within a few days. I promise.

At the bottom of the letter, half a sentence is scribbled over. 

I love-

Smudged black ink covers it. Beneath the black ink cloud reads,

I still have to take you to see the stars, don’t I?

From  
Rein(er)"

You neatly fold the letter and tuck it into the draw of your desk, heart fluttering. What you’re feeling for Reiner. . .you hadn’t anticipated it. You didn’t think you could let anyone again, not after everyone else had been taken from you. But somehow, he had pried open your walls. Reached inside, reading you as if what you were thinking and feeling was all clear to see. The way he held you, the hum of his rare and yet irrefutably beautiful laughter, the smile of his that you treasured like the ocean’s most precious pearl, his comforting words, and his promises . . .

They were dangerous promises, you know. Either of you could die. Yet, you know what you’re experiencing and it’s a sensation you haven’t truly felt in a long time. 

Love.

You love him. And though he scribbled it out, the beginning of his expression towards you were there.

You’re in love. 

You don’t know if you really deserve to feel this. Not after all of the horror and death, and the many lost loved ones of friends and comrades. But, the small, selfish part of you doesn’t care, and it’s not going to let this beautiful thing go.

\---

It’s strange, being left in near empty headquarters. You pass wounded soldiers sometimes. The wind howls as it echoes through the hallways, banging and thrashing against the wooden doors.

Trepidation crawls through your spine. A breach. Had more traitors been found? Or, maybe the armoured and colossal titan were back already? You hope that if that is the case, Reiner would be safe. He somehow found his way into your mind in near every breathing moment of the day. Whenever it was quiet, you imagined the calm grate of his voice teasing you. When you were lying awake at night, you imagined him with you, arms strung around your waist and nose buried in your hair. And when you stare up tonight at the stars, you wonder if he’s looking at them too.

\---  
Seven days later

The days stretch long, and the nights even longer. He’s been gone for longer than you thought. Messengers arrive few and far between with little information. You occupy yourself with your work, redressing your wounds, and training as much as your body will physically allow, though it does little to quell the fluttering anxiety coiling within your chest.

You laugh a little. 

You’re a soldier, it’s surprising for missions to not go longer than expected. But it’s different waiting, not knowing, not being there to ensure everyone was safe. And it’s different when you’re waiting for someone you love to return. You want him to know. Even if he rejects you, you want him to know.

It’s late. You’re sure it’s well past midnight. Moving to your desk, you pull open the bottom draw, reaching for the letter safely tucked between two medical books. You stare at the smudge scratched across the end of the message.

I love-

You imagine Reiner’s voice saying the words to you. Your heart jumps a little.

I still have to take you to see the stars, don’t I?

A loud knock thwacks against your door. Startled, you coil your hands in the fabric of your nightgown, taking measured paces towards the door. 

The knock sounds again, insistent. 

Leaning your ear against the door, the sounds of heavy, laboured breaths are distinct. You’re not sure how you know it’s Reiner, but you do, and your palm circles around the door handle and turns it, pulling the wood towards you.  
The door opens. Standing in the doorway, clad in a green sweater and dark pants, stands Reiner. His chest heaves, fists curled into two taut balls, eyes wide in adoration as his hazel gaze washes over you. His cropped, icy-blonde hair shines orange in the dim light of your room.

“Elle,” he breathes. 

His fingers twitch by his sides, gaze lowering at your legs uncovered by the short length of your nightgown as you move away from the door. The chill of the night air brushes past your skin as it rushes through the doorway, travelling and tickling as it crawls up your spine. 

“You’re back,” you whisper. 

He nods, red-faced. 

You look down towards his arm, pulled into a bandaged sling.

“Reiner--your arm--”

“It’s okay. I’m not in pain.”

“Let me see it,” you begin, reaching your hand out, though he grasps your hand with his uninjured arm and pins it back toward your side. You frown, but he merely grins down at you in response.

“It’s fine, I promise.”

You withdraw a little.

“Can we go for a walk?”

You raise an eyebrow. “This late? Don’t you have mission reports to fill?”

Reiner shakes his head.

“Done. I finished them and came as quickly as I could.”

“Aw, all for me? I’m flattered,” you joke teasingly.

He doesn’t react.

“You should wear a jacket, it’s cold outside. And bring a blanket too.”

Nodding, you move to your closet and don an oversized sweater, sheltering you from the cold air. Reiner leans against the doorway, one hand nervously tapping at the pocket of his pants. You grab a thick knitted blanket from beneath your bed, worn from what you assume was years of use.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

He’s never this uncomposed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him nervous. He blinks in surprise at your question.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to see you.”

“Reiner, I know you better than that. What’s going on?”

“I. . .I’ll explain later,” he whispers, large hand reaching out towards yours, “Come walk with me first.”

With a raised eyebrow, you reach your hand out towards his and intertwine your fingers. You follow him outside your dorm, hand in hand, sneaking through the dancing dark of the shadows. A part of his sudden sporadicness worries you; he’s normally well-composed and confident. Perhaps the stress of recent events have caught up on him. 

Maybe you could tell him how you felt tonight.

He leads you across the unlit courtyard, through the dirt patch training field, and down through a dark, shrubby pathway. Moonlight paints the curling leaves and branches. You reach the end of the pathway, circle around Reiner, and look up to see the expanse of the moonlit lake. Somehow, it’s far more beautiful at night. The water stretches far out beyond what you can see, dark and never ending, reflecting the twinkling white specks in the sky.

A glimmering ocean of stars.

“Wow,” you gasp. 

Reiner takes the blanket from your side, unrolling it and laying it flat against the ground with his free hand. When he turns back around, you’re unbuttoning your jacket. He goes red as his gaze drops, unsure of your intentions until he sees you striding closer to the edge of the little cliff.

“You’ll catch a cold--”

Before he can tug you backward, you’ve disappeared below into the deep blue. His heart stops until you resurface, giggling, the moonlight casting a white crescent over the curve of your jaw. A bated breath releases from his lips. 

“Come in,” you say.

Reiner nods, jumping into the water half a heartbeat later. He resurfaces an arm’s length away from you, water dripping from his hair and skin. His pale flesh glows blue at the seams under the glow of the moonlight. 

“I wonder if the ocean is like this,” you hum, swimming forward. His hands, hidden beneath the surface, snake around your hips. 

“Sure. Maybe a little bigger. And saltier.”

“We’ll both know one day.”

“Mhm,” he nods, gaze lowering as he examines you in the moonlight.

God, it’s tearing him apart; you tangled in his arms, wet nightgown gliding against his skin, thighs clenched around his hips. His gaze doesn’t leave your lips. But he’s holding back. He has been for a while now; it’s kept him awake for an endless amount of nights. Waiting for you, waiting for a sign--something to knock him out of his fragile equilibrium. 

You can see it. You can feel it through the thick of his pants. 

The dull chirping of crickets and the lapping of the water against the rocks fade to background noise as your heart thrums in your ears. You don’t know if you can wait any longer--you want him. You love him. All of him.

“Reiner,” you breathe, hitching upwards, stomach pressed flat against his chest. 

He holds you steady, and you feel his breath lengthen. 

Held up by his arms, you gaze downwards, lips parting. The tips of his ears and cheeks are coated in a rose red, hazel gaze swirling with want and need. 

Half a heartbeat later, your lips are on his, desperate, greedy. It’s not measured like your first kiss with him. It’s filthy, primal, messy. He groans against your lips, meeting your fervour equally before he slides his tongue across your lips teasingly. His hands lower now, reaching beneath to cup your ass with each of his veiny hands. Your arms tighten around his neck for support, buckling forwards as your lip lowers to grant his tongue access, tangling and twirling around yours.

He wades through the water, leading you to the shallows and out near the bank. Clumsily, he stumbles against the bank, falling only inches away from directly over you. In the brief distance, you both draw in sharp breaths, gently chuckling.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, adjusting himself so he’s hovering above you, forearms either side of your head.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week,” he groans as your lips reconnect, one hand leaving your side to grasp your thigh, slowly trailing up to your hip, fumbling at the edge of your nightgown, “No, fuck that, I’ve been thinking about you for months.” 

His hands reach beneath you, lifting you from the ground. Steadied, he treks up the hill as his tangled, messy kisses captivate you, unbreakable. Once he’s at the top, he slams you down against the blanket atop the grass, eliciting a pained whimper from your lips. He doesn’t let you relish long in the pain as his lips reconnect with yours, his lips soft as velvet.

“Your arm,” you whisper between his lips. 

“Take the bandage away.”

“Won’t it hurt you--”

He shakes his head, breaking away from the kiss, your saliva glistening on his lips.

Nodding, you lift up onto your forearms, sinking your teeth around the knotted bandage. With a few careful pulls and tugs with your mouth, the fabric slackens, loosening until you tug your head backward and the fabric falls down to his side. You see the bite marks, now; they’re healed over, but the imprints of titan teeth are clearly marked into his flesh. He doesn’t seem to be in pain.

With a spread hand, he flattens your back against the blanket. His aggressive mouth steals your lips vulgarly. You grab his neck with your arms and pull him tighter against you. His hand slides down between your breasts, over your clothed stomach and upwards again, pulling a silk strap over your shoulder and lower, looping your arm through it. He follows the process with the other side of your gown and he tugs at it, lowering the front beneath the mounds of your breasts. 

He pulls away from the kiss, taking in the glorious sight of you. His Adam's apple bobs painfully in his throat. You move upwards this time, fingers circling around the buttons of his shirt before tugging it away hastily. Your palms flatten and spread against the thick, muscular planes of his chest and abdomen. His skin is hot and discoloured from his gear, much like yours.

You wrap your legs around his waist and flip him over so he’s flat on his back, bare breasts dangling above him. 

“I wonder where you learnt that move,” he teases sarcastically. 

“I’m sure you’re well acquainted with this position,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. 

It stirs something deep within him. He rolls you over onto your stomach. Before you can fight back, his hand has your wrists pressed together, pressing you forward and lower so your cheek is pressed against the ground and your knees ache as your ass arches up in the air.

“This seems right,” he murmurs. 

His hands tug your nightgown down and over your hips, the wet fabric leaving a slick trail across your thighs as he pulls it away. Leaning over you, stomach pressing against your back, his lips lower towards the sensitive point where your ear and jaw connect. He suckles at the tender skin before biting down, eliciting a weak whimper from your lips. He continues, peppering kisses down along the edges of your neck and over your back and shoulders, leaving you completely at his mercy. 

You moan his name as his hands wrap around your waist, rolling you over so you’re flat on your back. Fire burns over every inch of your skin, melting at the points where his lips connect. He takes his time with you, slowly kissing across your throat and down towards your collarbone. But it’s not enough; it’s too slow, and the pooling flame of your arousal leaves you desperate for him.

His belt is casted away to the side, hastily pulled through the waistband of his pants. Shrugging away his pants, he’s left in his boxers, his hardened length bulging against the shiny fabric. You reach for it, but he catches your wrists and pins them tight together, resting them on the grass above your head.

Not yet, his gaze says.

His lips reconnect with your skin, travelling over the swell of your breast. His mouth engulfs the flesh, applying careful pressure to the pink bud. When his lips withdraw, your breasts glisten with his saliva. You think he’s going to finally tug away your underthings, yet his head lowers and he returns to your other breast.

Your body twitches, the slick pooling between your thighs thickening. A whimper escapes from your lips as you rub your thighs together, desperate for friction and attention. His kisses trail down between your breasts and ribs, gaze greedily lapping up the sight of you. You’ve never seen him this measured, this slow and tortuous; he’s savouring it, as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste. He’s mapping your body, feeling every edge and curve, as if to imprint it forever in his mind; leaving his markings all over you to finally claim you as his.

When his lips meet the lace of your panties, his gaze raises to yours, and he pauses, waiting for your permission.

“Please,” you moan.

The fabric is pulled away seconds later. He’s positioned himself over you again, relishing in the sight of you bare; red-faced, wet, and completely at his mercy. Sheepishly, you press your thighs together, covering the dripping source of your arousal. He shakes his head and plants his hands on both knees, prying your legs apart and sitting them on either side of his waist.

You have no time to feel shame, for his hot breath tickles between your thighs seconds later, blonde hair brushing against your skin. The heat from his mouth connects with your body as his tongue meets your clit, glistening under the faint light of the crescent moon.

His firm tongue draws a circle around your desperate bud, waves of electricity coursing through your nerves. He’s less patient with this. His head buries deeper between your thighs, his tongue moving harder and more insistent, your thighs clenching against him as your breath cages deep within your lungs. A throaty groan rumbles across your clit from his lips; your gentle mewls and body writhing between him pressing him on.

The tension between your thighs builds, your hips rocking against his face, chasing the stars that begin to twinkle behind your eyelids. His hands are hard and firm around your legs as he withdraws his lips briefly, a low groan of releasing as you desperately try to teeter yourself over the edge again, needing his touch, that last little bit of friction to reach ecstasy. A heartbeat later, one long finger is toying at your entrance. 

Your breath stops as his lips lower again to your clit and one finger slides inside. Tangling your hands in his hair, he works at you again, circling and suckling with his tongue as another finger slips inside you, curling forward around the sweet spongy spot inside you, hands holding you down as your hips begin to arch upward. It’s overwhelmingly wonderful and you feel like you could cry, the coil within your stomach tightening so hard you think it’s going to snap.

And when he tugs his fingers tighter, it does. Your body spasms as a thousand stars twinkle behind your eyelids, a low and long moan erupting from your lips. He doesn’t pull away until your hips flatten against the ground, removing his cum-covered lips and fingers. You blush a little at the sight, your breathing slowly beginning to even. 

You brush your thumb over his lips, kneeling upwards to kiss him. You taste yourself against his lips and are a little embarrassed by the sweetness of the taste, though it’s soon overpowered by his tongue wiping across your front row of teeth, his hot breath blowing against your cheek.

“Your turn, Rein,” you say. 

Your fingertips tease at the skin beneath his navel, watching as his eyebrows furrow in frustration. You slip one hand into his boxers, tracing your fingernail along his length. His breath halts, gazing down at your painfully slow caresses. 

“Quit teasing me,” he grunts.

Following his request, you hook your fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers and pull it down over his thighs. He shrugs the rest away, and you feel your lips part a little as you stare down at his length. It’s long, and wider than you anticipated. You think for a moment it won’t fit.

Despite his order, you continue teasing him, circling your hands up along the base to the tip, watching his face twitch and contort in desperation. He lets you continue this for only a moment longer before he grabs your hips and rolls you over so you’re flat on your stomach, cheek against the blanket. You fight for a little, trying to roll back over, but he’s too strong and you give up, hands pinned behind.

“Good girl,” he mutters.

You can see the water from this position. 

He goes still for a moment, brushing the hair away from your cheek to see your face as he leans over you. 

“I wanna fuck you from behind. Do you want that too, Princess?”

You moan, “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

He kisses your cheek before pulling away, hand trailing along your waistline down towards your hips. Your hips rise above your head as your chest lowers to the ground. 

His tip kisses your entrance. You breathe out as he carefully slides himself in, inch by inch. It’s painful at first; prying your walls further apart, stretching and tugging and burning. His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your hips as he pulls backwards. When he slides in again, a little rougher, the pain melts away into pleasure, and you bounce backwards to meet his next thrust, fingertips curling in the rough fabric of the blanket. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts. 

His pace quickens. Each thrust is harder, deeper, rougher, rocking you relentlessly. He grunts and growls deep in his throat as he plunges into you, the slapping of skin invading the calm of the night air. You can't stifle the animalistic moans erupting from your lips as you snap backwards onto him, skin slapping. He angles you down a little bit, hitting your core perfectly and roughly and eliciting a moan from your lips.

A hand balls itself in the thick of your hair. He tugs your head backwards so he can glimpse at your face, and from this slightly raised position your gaze is up towards the stars. The pulling is painfully pleasurable; tears welling in the soft ducts of your eyes, burning hot and wet as Reiner hits you right where it feels good, his teeth bared as pearls of sweat trail down his forehead and chest. The stars begin to blur as your climax builds. You hold it down, tightening your grip in the woolen fabric as he slams into you.

“Come undone for me, Princess.”

It’s enough to plunge you into the depths of an orgasm. Your mouth falls and eyes scrunch as you tighten around him and scream his name, burning strikes of electricity coursing all the way from your hips down to your toes and up towards your trembling fingertips. 

He thrusts in again as you spasm, harder and deeper, fingers burning red marks into your skin as aftershocks cage your body. A low moan escapes his lips as warm liquid explodes deep inside of you, his cock twitching as you milk the last of him. His fingers leave the back of your head.

He pulls out carefully, lowering your hips flat to the ground. With a clean edge of the blanket, he wipes away at your thighs, one hand gently massaging your scalp.

“You okay?” He asks, huffing. 

You roll over so you’re facing him, nodding with a tired smile, “Yeah.” 

He leans downwards, planting a kiss against your forehead before he turns away a second later, reaching for his tunic and pants. Laying the impossibly soft shirt over you, he moves so he’s lying down beside you, nestling his head between your jaw and neck, strong arm gripped tight around your midsection. 

It’s silent for a minute as your breathing slowly evens.

“Come home with me,” he whispers. 

You blink a little, still basking in postcoital glory. 

“I’m going home. I want you to come with me.”

“Reiner. . .what about our missions? Our roles? I swore loyalty not even a year ago, I can’t. . .I can’t abandon this yet.”

He tightens his grip around you, lips tenderly brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I can show you the stars and the ocean. You’ll love it. Come with me.”

The idea is wonderful. You imagine what it’d look like to stare out at the great expanse of blue, hand in his. But it’s not fair; not for the rest of your comrades as they fight and die.

“Please, I need you. Come home with me.”

He grabs your hand, the uninjured one, and slides a circle of cool metal around your fourth finger. You stare down and see a ring.

It’s shiny and simple, with careful, intricate carvings you are sure no blacksmith in Trost could ever hope to achieve. It doesn’t look like any ring you’ve seen, and it’s strikingly beautiful; much like the cool edge of his hazel gaze.

You roll over, laying atop his chest so you can see his face. His eyebrows are knotted, lips parted and eyes wide. 

“I love you,” he says.

You press a slow, gentle kiss against his lips. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Why?” he asks.

His question shocks you. He’s never this uncertain of himself. Never this vulnerable. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe you, despite all that’s happened between you.

“Because I love you, Reiner. You make me whole.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, and you know he believes it from the way his eyes darken. “And I’m selfish, because I want you all the same, all to myself, damning our vows and promises and duties.”

“Reiner,” you scold, grabbing his palm and laying it flat against his cheek, “There’s no other man I could or want to love. You’re all that I want. You’re amazing. You deserve to know that, and you deserve far more than my love.” 

He wraps his arms tighter around you, your head gently nestling in the crook of his neck as his breath rises and falls beneath you.

“When I leave,” he begins, shuddering, “I want you to promise me you’ll stay safe. That you’ll stay alive for me. That you’ll have a family and a house and live long and happily.”

He wants what for you what he can’t have. What he’d want to have with you, if life wasn’t so cruel. 

You don’t say anything. You can’t promise him that.

“I love you, Reiner,” is all you can say. 

You slowly drift to sleep, exhaustion swelling over you. You don’t see the tears that stream his cheeks that night. You don’t see the way his eyes hold you, savouring the sight for he knows it’ll be the last time he can appreciate it, holding you warm and tight and close, knowing you’re safe and happy. 

When he drifts to sleep hours after you, he dreams of what life with you could have been like with you. Tangled in the fresh linen beneath him, breathless and whimpering; starting a family, babies with your hair and his hazel eyes; giggling and fighting in the yard of your home; and holding you tight as you gaze out over an ocean of stars. 

He wishes life could have been different. That you said yes. But it couldn’t, no matter what you said or where you went.

You’d be killed as soon as you set foot in Marley. You were a devil. And yet, he loved and needed you all the same. 

He wouldn’t live for much longer. Even if you survived, you’d be forced to watch him die. He couldn’t do that to you. Every circumstance would ruin you all because of love.

He’s never loved nor been loved like this, and he doesn’t imagine it’ll ever happen again.

He hopes it doesn’t, because he knows the cruel world will just take it from him once again.

\---

You fuck a few more times that night. Against a tree, in the lake, and once more after you both redressed. Time stops when he’s inside of you, hands tangled in your hair and your clit, low grunts and moans vibrating against your ear.

It’s just before dawn when he moves from beneath you. You groan a little, still exhausted as he gently rolls you onto your stomach, murmuring, “Sorry, Princess.” The fabric rustles as he redresses, and you lift and turn your head to gaze at him lovingly, admiring the perfection of his sculpted body. Your walls and legs throb dully, and you suspect that you will be limping for at least a day.

Reiner’s pulling the beige bandage back over his arm now, and you’re not quite sure why, but you assume he merely reignited the pain when he held and pressed you rough up against the tree. You gaze down at your fingers, the metal ring turning yellow in the lowlight of the rising sun.

“I have to go,” he says coldly, expression darkening as he’s faced away from you.

You sit up at his words. It’s not daybreak yet.

“I have to reach the wall before the sun rises.”

Shakily rising to your feet, you slowly pad over to him, palms pressing against his back. He doesn’t turn.

“Why?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Why?” 

He turns now, eyes watery. 

“I can’t--I can’t. . .” He stutters.

Your hands fall to his wrists. You wrap your fingers around them, push the palms of his hands against your cheeks, and gaze up at him.

“Reiner, why can’t you ever tell me what’s going on? You have this great big wall around you. Sometimes I think I've finally broken through, finally cracked your tough exterior--that you finally trust me, and that I can help you.”

He looks away from you.

“Why do you hide?”

“Because I love you!” He snaps.

You blink, surprised at his outburst. You reach out again and he pulls away.

“I’m not hurting you again.”

Your mind flashes back to last night. He’s returning home today, you know.

“Is this goodbye?”

He’s quiet, but he nods.

“I’m going to see you again, one day.”

“You’ll hate me.”

“I’ll still want to see you.”

He turns around, grabs you by the back of the head and presses you roughly against him, stealing one last kiss. It’s long, passionate and messy. He’s savouring the taste of your lips, and you’re trying to etch his scent permanently in your mind. When you’re cleaved apart, you’re hungrily panting for air, falling back onto the balls of your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He nods. You know he wants to say it back, just one more time, but it’ll ruin him. He doesn’t need to, you remind yourself--you know. The swell in his hazel eyes, the words whispered to you last night, the way his throat bobs as if he’s swallowing a thicket of thorns.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

They’re his last words to you before he turns away and walks towards the thickening edge of the forest, silver hair disappearing under the midnight hue of the dappled shadows. You want to chase after him, grab him and beg him to stay, despite the futility of it all. But it’s too late once you step forward, the blonde nowhere to be seen in the darkness of the forest.

You stand still, silently staring at the spot where he once stood.

\---  
You’re in your room at dawn, after weakly ambling through the forest and courtyard. Your body and mind are one; numb, still and hurt. 

When the sunlight hits your window, a knock sounds at the door. Your lips don’t move. They’re frozen.

“Hello?”

The knock sounds again.

You slowly slide out of the covers, wincing at the pain before limping toward the door. 

Jean is there to greet you. He’s red-faced and out of breath.

“We need medical assistance on the wall. I’ve already got your medical gear, just get dressed and get there quick. Ymir’s badly injured.”

You blink, processing the information. 

Nodding, you slide away the straps of your nightgown, watching Jean’s face turn pink before you close the door. In a clumsy hurry, you change into your uniform, and ask for Jean’s help to quickly attach your gear. Once dressed and geared up, you and Jean make way for the wall upon your horses. The beat of hooves drums along to the deep thrumming within your chest, poison apprehension bubbling deep within your stomach.

The streets widen as you reach the wall. Dotted along the top walk black figures, obscured in shadow by the sun’s haze. You grab your medical gear and rush to the vertical face of the wall, snapping your wires to the highest point of the raised stone and pulling the triggers of the swords, whipping you through the cool air. The weight of the medical gear strapped to you noticeably slows your velocity, and almost throws off your balance, but before you can topple, your feet find themselves upon the cold surface of the wall. Your chest heaves a little as the adrenaline subsides through your fingertips, Jean promptly at your side and patting your shoulder to make sure you are okay. 

Nodding, you gently brush him away, striding toward the stretcher holding the tall brunette. Hot steam billows from her skin. Markings cover her under eyes and browline. Historia sobs her name, clutching her girlfriend’s arm. 

A titan shifter.

You’re a metre away from her when the sound of crackling lightning fills your ears. You turn your head, down along the edge of the wall where the sky is widest.

Along the blue horizon flashes an explosion of gold. In the middle of it stands Reiner.


End file.
